


Touch

by WhatTheBodyGraspsNot



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Introvert!Keith, M/M, ProfessionalCuddler!Lance, Trans Keith (Voltron), alcohol use, keith has anxiety because sometimes it just be like that, minor dysphoria, takes place around christmas/new years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 16:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13217310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot/pseuds/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot
Summary: It's Christmas time and Keith is touch-starved - an introvert. The link Pidge sends him for the Cuddle Buddy app is funny. Until it's not. Until there's a boy knocking on Keith's door ready to get up close and personal. The fact that he's the cutest boy on the planet doesn't help things in the slightest. And suddenly Keith has a lot more to worry about than the holidays.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gravastellar (CoffeyTime)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeyTime/gifts).



> for alex bc i love you <3 merry shitscram

Keith’s story, like many others, starts with a joke.

It’s the beginning of November and everyone’s fawning over sharing the Christmas season with someone they love and Keith makes the mistake of letting out an unimpressed sigh. It’s a mistake because he should be happy about the fact that his brother is seeing someone. It’s also a mistake because it means Pidge hears it and calls him out on it immediately.

“You should just rent a boyfriend for the season,” they say. “I bet there’s someone on Craigslist for-...” 

They don’t even get the sentence completed before their eyes are lighting up dangerously behind those big round glasses, and they’re typing away like crazy on their phone. 

Keith watches with the driest blink in the world, only to be beaten when his eyes scan the name of the website that’s thrust into his face.

**Cuddle Buddies**

“Funny.”

“I’m making you an appointment.”

“You’re not.”

“Oh, but I am.”

Shiro’s chiming in before the back and forth can get too heated. “I think we should all just stop for a second and imagine Keith receiving a stranger who’s there to touch him.”

Keith agrees. 

He can’t think of a  _ worse  _ thing.

Pidge, on the other hand. “Oh, I’m imagining it.” They flick their attention back toward the task at hand. “How’s Thursday at seven work for you?”

“Pidge.”

“Alright alright,” it’s all it takes for them to give up, “but I’m sending you the link.”

“Thanks so much.”

“You’re welcome.” Sarcasm missed. “Because you seriously need someone to give you The Good Touch before you die.”

“Says the only other person in the room who’s never been in a relationship.”

“That’s different. I don’t  _ want  _ anyone to touch me. You?” The way they adjust their glasses like some sort of anime protagonist pretty much seals the deal as they say it, “You need it bad.”

Keith opts to ignore it. Opts to push it waaaaaay to the side and forget about it. 

And he does. 

All the way up until he’s back in his apartment and the heat’s kicking in and he’s mourning - imagining the concept of having someone here to sit next to and share body heat with.

Pidge’s message is still taunting him. Still looming, the link calling his name from the chat bubble.

Just a peek, then.

A peek won’t hurt. 

Except it does.

Because Keith doesn’t just peek.

He peeks and then peeks some more and now he’s panicking. In the present time. He’s wearing a path between the sink and the window and he’s panicking because he did more than peek and now the hour is quickly approaching and it’s only a matter of time until-

_ knock knock knock _

Keith’s stomach flips, eyes to the door.

Oh jesus. Oh jesus, is this really happening? Why’d he do this?

Why’d he go and schedule an appointment with someone he doesn’t even know? What part of his brain ruled this as on okay thing to do?

_ knock knock knock _

Shit. 

Maybe he can just pretend not to be home. Maybe if he just stays silent, the guy will think he’s at the wrong place and will give up and go home. Maybe he can still get out of this with only twenty bucks down the drain.

_ buzz _

Keith’s phone. It’s on the counter. God that wasn’t loud enough to hear outside was it?

He creeps to where it’s lit up, sliding it around with a single finger so he can see the message that’s popped up.

It’s from the Cuddle Buddy app.

Yes, there’s a Cuddle Buddy app.

_ hey man i think im here but no ones answering? _

Oh no.

It’s him.

Keith takes a moment to inhale, eyes closing as he does so. He just needs to get his shit together. He’s the one who scheduled the appointment. He’s the one who made this guy take time out of his night to come out here.

He just needs to-...wow, just get his shit together.

_ knock knock _

Okay.

Here he goes.

Keith sets his path for the door. It may be a slow one, and it may not have a lot of confidence behind it, but it’s a path all the same, and he just has to keep moving forward until he gets to the-

Damn it, he’s here already. 

That was way too quick.

The sliding lock clatters along its track as Keith’s shaky fingers slip it undone. Then the big lock. Then the extra lock near the ground because he’s paranoid. 

And then…

The hallway lights shine too brightly as he finally gets the door open, temporarily relieved from the initial shock of making first eye contact because he’s met with the back of the guy’s jacket. And the back of his head. And it’s actually not that bad until the door creaks and it draws his attention and he turns because then-

“Oh- hey!”

He’s-...um…

“H-hey…” Get it together, Keith.

“You had me worried for a second there. Thought I was at the wrong place.” He’s smiling. Has...really really nice, straight teeth. 

Keith knows he’s staring but he can’t help himself because this guy...he’s-

“So hey, you still good for the sesh? Time’s a-tickin’!”

Time. Sesh? The session, right right. 

“Um,” Keith eyes the hallway and feels the crunch of draining time settle into his bones before getting with it - opening the door the rest of the way and making room for the guy to walk through it. 

And this guy...he’s-

“Damn, this apartment’s cool as hell, dude.”

Keith swallows, closing the door behind both of them slowly enough that he can turn to watch him take in the living space with honest awe. “...thanks…”

It is a pretty cool apartment. Keith likes the huge windows in the living room the best. It’s just…

Okay, look. Keith’s just gonna come right out and say it. They don’t give pictures on the Cuddle Buddy site. They just list the person’s age and height and likes and stuff like that and-...and crap, if Keith would’ve known how cute this boy was, he  _ never  _ would’ve picked him.

Because holy shit.

He’s-...

He’s really fucking cute.

“You okay?”

Keith blinks. Joins him with the rest of the conscious world. Realizes he’s been standing at the doorway this whole time without so much as a word. 

“Uh...what?”

Nailed it.

The guy- Keith’s almost positive his name is Luke. Or-...shit, or was it Lance?

God damn it.

Luke/Lance smiles at him - this oddly warm smile that feels weird after only the  _ very  _ brief time they’ve spent together from the doorway to now. But he’s smiling. He sure is. And there are those really nice teeth again. “I was asking if you’re okay,” he repeats. “You seem a little…” He gestures with both hands. Wiggly fingers.

Keith assumes it’s bad. “Yeah.”

“Okay, cool.” His hair is short and artfully messy. Maybe he styles it that way. Maybe he just came from another session. May- “So how you wanna do this? I’m down either way - just lemme know.”

He’s made his way back from the large windows in the living room, coming to rest in front of Keith with a welcoming carry. But as  _ welcoming  _ as it may be, Keith’s gotta admit he has absolutely no idea what to say. Not even the right direction to lead off with.

So...fuck it. He’s just gonna say it. “I-uh… I dunno, honestly. I’ve never-...” what would you even call this? “This is my first time…”

It comes out  _ really dumb.  _ But he’s glad to have said it with the way the realization seems to spark this sort of pleased understanding in the boy in front of him.

“Oh, well you don’t have to be nervous,” he grins, “I’ll make sure your first time with me is nice and comfortable.”

The…

The innuendo…

He has to have done that on purpose, right?

Keith does his best to get something resembling a smile on his face. “Uh…  _ Thanks _ … I guess…”

That had to have been on purpose. 

Or maybe not, with the way Luke/Lance seems just genuinely very excited about it. “Ah sorry. I haven’t had a new client in a while - just a lot of regulars, ya know? Forgot how weird it can be if you’re not used to it. So uh-” He glances around the apartment once more, eyes darting and then latching onto the couch. “If you’re feeling weird about it, we can start there and just kinda like, sit and watch TV or something.”

Keith eyes the couch as well. “TV?”

“Yeah dude. Some people like the distraction at first, you know?”

Huh. The distraction. That...actually makes a lot of sense. And holy shit does Keith need literally any sort of distraction right now. “That’s fine.”

His agreement has another one of those smiles stretching across the guy’s face. “Awesome.” He goes to shrug his jacket off, nodding in the direction of the couch once more. “Why don’t you get comfy and I’ll join you in a sec.”

Keith follows the suggestion - just forces himself to - because it’s either that and get things rolling, or stand here and watch this attractive stranger peel off his bomber jacket and readjust his long-sleeve underneath. And it’s pretty obvious he needs to be finding ways to calm down, so Keith carries himself to the couch and sits - directly in the middle - arms at his sides and legs stiff - and the empty space that was supposed to be filled with nervousness is now quickly being filled with awkwardness instead. 

And uh…

Ah jesus…

Luke/Lance is still smiling when he approaches the couch, but it’s warmer this time - more gentle. “Cool if I sit?” 

Keith nods. 

“Thanks.”

The next few moments sort of blur together and drag out into unreal time altogether, Keith’s pulse swooping in his chest as the couch cushion dips next to him. And then the warmth comes. Body contact. The guy’s side slid nice and snug against his own. And:

“You like holding or being held more?”

It’s a very confusing question for one brief moment - his voice so close - cologne light and pleasant - but somehow Keith’s mouth answers for him, brain not able to catch up before the opportunity to curb embarrassment slips away. “Being held.”

But apparently it’s  _ not  _ an embarrassing answer, because the guy nods and then says, “Can I put my arm around you?”

And wow. Wow, it’s really not that groundbreaking of a suggestion but it feels like Keith’s dabbling in dangerous territory. Because just the warmth from sitting this closely is enough to have his pulse quickening. But he wants it. He really really wants it. So he nods, stiffly, and braces himself for impact.

Another moment dragging through time - completely fucking with the space time continuum - and then, almost like in a dream…

Keith focuses in, the arm that’s wrapping over the back of his neck and the hand that’s draped over his shoulder… It’s warm… Confident… Feels both like it’s belonged there this whole time, and like Keith needs to get up and move away from it. 

Except. 

Except he really doesn’t want to. He really doesn’t want to.

Because it feels…

“Good?” 

He blinks. Has no  _ fucking  _ idea why there’s a lump in his throat, and swallows it down quickly to nod. But not look. Never look. 

“Nice. Whatdaya wanna watch?”

Keith blinks again -  _ needs  _ to pull himself together, it’s just… God damn it does this feel nice in the most awkward way imaginable. “Uh…” What was the question?

“You got a show you’re binging? Me and another client got through like three seasons of Game of Thrones in a month once.”

‘Another client’. There you go. Keith’s a client. This is this guy’s job. This is totally a sane thing to do and Keith shouldn’t feel weird. “Stranger Things,” he finally gets out, although it’s towards the direction of the television for the continuous fear of making close eye contact.

It’s got the guy shimmying just the slightest bit in excitement, Keith’s body moving with him by default. “Oooh fuck yes, I love that show. Which season are you on?”

“I just started.”

“Oh my god. Promise I won’t spoil anything.”

And that’s how Keith gets enough strength to reach over and snag the remote from the coffee table in front of them, his worry that the arm might disappear for good completely unnecessary as it wraps around him again as soon as he sits back. 

The panning red lettering of the title starts to glow as Keith attempts to adjust himself. When exactly is his heartbeat gonna slow down? 

“So one more thing,” certainly not any time soon with how very close this guy’s voice is to Keith’s ear, “Just lemme know if you want more or less. Don’t feel like you need to commit or anything.”

“...commit…?”

“Yeah man. Kinda defeats the purpose if you’re as tense as you are, you know?”

Keith’s gaze drops from the screen. Great. So he  _ can  _ feel how wound up he is. “Sorry.”

“No no no,” it’s the wrong thing to say, apparently. “It’s nothing you gotta apologize for. Almost everyone’s kinda stiff the first time. I just wanna make sure you’re getting the most out of it - cool?”

A nod.

“Yeah like, literally just tell me - just be like ‘Lance, more cuddles’, or like ‘Hey, way too much. Ease that shit up.’”

The chuckle that escapes from Keith’s mouth surprises him, and it’s difficult to hide once it’s out. But it doesn’t really matter, he guesses, because one: he appreciates the humor - and this guy’s got it, and two: now he’s officially patting himself on the back for not going for it and calling him Luke. 

“So just lemme know,” he finishes off, probably pleased with the laughter he’s received. 

Keith uses the moment to show his understanding, if not a bit bashfully. “This is good.”

“Good.”

Good.

On screen, Joyce has made her fifth call to the police station. Everything is very high key everywhere it seems. 

And…

“Actually…” - ah…

Lance - it’s  _ Lance  _ \- glances over, “Hm?”

And there goes his pulse again. Wow, forget that. 

Keith shakes his head. Never mind. Never mind, times a thousand. 

Lance waits for a moment more, hopefully not catching onto the fact that Keith was two seconds away from already asking for more. Because  _ that,  _ that is embarrassing. 

But Lance doesn’t say anything. He remains silent, thankfully, and then his attention is turned back to where Hopper’s finally getting to the phone call in his office. 

Keith lets his eyes shut.

That was close.

They go over the time. The scheduled session time. Keith knows because they’re about ten minutes from the end of the episode when a mystifying melody of twinkling chimes floats up from Lance’s pants.

Keith goes to stiffly move away when the melody is thumbed to a stop next to him, and then Lance is saying, “Wanna finish?”

And Keith would be lying if he said he isn’t pleasantly surprised by the promise of a little more warmth, even if the opportunity seems to go against all professional ethics. “But, I uh… I only paid for an hour.”

Lance chuckles, and for the first time Keith turns his head to look at him when he says it. “It’s cool. We only got -  _ what,  _ like ten more minutes of the episode?”

He’s prettier than Keith remembers. Which is an absolutely  _ stupid  _ thing to think, because he’s literally been sitting here in this guy’s arms for an hour now. It’s just… “Yeah…”

Lance’s skin is confusingly clear. Impossibly smooth. Otherworldly in the dim light of the room. Even when he amends his statement with a careful: “I mean, I can get outta your hair. That’s an option too-”

“No.” Wow. Damn, hang on there, Keith. No need to voice how desperate you are to keep this going. “I mean...we can finish. If you want.”

His desperation is graciously swept under the rug, Lance’s only reaction a quirk of the corner of his mouth.

And then he’s turning back to the TV. And Keith’s turning back to the TV. And the sturdy feeling of the arm wrapped around him is something he’s trying very hard to memorize, because what if this is it? What if he doesn’t have the confidence to schedule again?

The ten minutes go by in thirty seconds, leaving Keith not much time at all. But once the credits start to roll, there’s not much he can do about it. Especially when Lance uses the arm around him to pat Keith’s shoulder and then pulls back to his own space. 

“Alrighty. Good shit,” he says, as if to himself, and then hoists himself up from the couch, heading over to the chair that he had draped his jacket over. “So there’s this like...survey thing that the app gives you in a few hours. You don’t have to but it boosts my ratings if you fill it out.”

Keith doesn’t hear any of it. Is still on the couch, battling the very strange feeling of loss now that the body is gone from next to him. It shouldn't be cold. It’s not actually cold - it’s just a mental thing...right?

“Just between you and me though, was it okay?” 

He hears that one. Flicks his attention up as Lance pulls his jacket on and continues.

“Like were you feelin’ it? Thinkin’ it might be something you’re into?” There’s zero judgement in his tone. If anything, there’s almost a hint of concern lurking in there somewhere. “Not even necessarily with me, even. Although I’d gladly sit and watch some Stranger Things with you whenever.”

His laugh disarms the very potent swirl of self consciousness beginning to build in Keith’s gut from all the questions. And what exactly is he supposed to be saying here? “It was…”  _ uh… _ “...good.”

Understated. 

Extremely lame.

Enough, it seems, for Lance’s smile to pop right back up as he zips his jacket halfway. “Oh, good. I was hoping.” And it’s the sincerity of it that’s probably the most alarming. Like he’s satisfied  _ not  _ because it promotes good business for himself, but because it means Keith’s come out of this satisfied too. “Well if you  _ did  _ like me, feel free to schedule somethin’ whenever, okay?”

Keith’s made it to where Lance is nearly ready to go, a bizarre mixture of emotions fucking up his insides. “Okay.”

“Sweet.” He slips his phone into his jacket pocket and then lets out a short breath, grinning warmly down at Keith, and then: “Cool if I hug you goodbye?”

One more emotion to fuck up his insides. He’s not sure which one it is. But it fucks shit up just like the rest. “Uh...sure…”

Especially when Lance steps forward, both arms folding around Keith and gently tugging them together. It’s a full-body warmth. One from the press of their fronts to the hand rubbing assuredly at his back. It knocks the wind from Keith’s lungs. Makes his toes tingle. Has his fingers shaking - just a bit - just a touch - his hands stuck at his sides and then slowly beginning to rise before-

Lance pulls back, all warm smiles as he says something that Keith can’t even begin to hear with the pulse in his eardrums. And then he’s heading to the door. And Keith’s following after him. And he supposes he should open it for him, but Lance is already on it, slipping through and then turning to beam down at him, “Night!”

Keith watches him disappear down the hallway, fingers curling into a lazy fist and then relaxing again when Lance is out of earshot. “...bye…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It takes Keith a full day to even open up the after-cuddle survey.

He’s stuck, half of him trying to forget that the experience happened in the first place, the other half desperately trying to cling onto the quickly fading feeling of another person being so physically close.

So it takes him a full day to even open up the after-cuddle survey.

Once he does, he’s realized the error of his ways.

_ 1) How satisfied are you with your overall experience with the above Cuddle Buddy? _

 

  * __highly satisfied__


  * _somewhat satisfied_


  * _neutral_


  * _somewhat dissatisfied_


  * _highly dissatisfied_



 

Keith skips it for now.

_ 2) How comfortable did your Cuddle Buddy make you feel during your session? _

 

  * __highly comfortable__


  * _somewhat comfortable_


  * _neutral_


  * _somewhat uncomfortable_


  * _highly uncomfortable_



 

...skip.

_ 3) How reasonable did you find the pricing to be regarding the length of your scheduled session? _

 

  * __highly reasonable__


  * _somewhat reasonable_


  * _neu--_



 

Keith freezes, eyes flicking up as they go wide in realization.

Fuck. 

Fucking  _ fuck _ . 

He forgot to pay Lance.

How in the world is that possible? He had the money right in his pocket for him. And more importantly, how’d  _ Lance,  _ the very person expecting to receive the money, miss it too?

He’s just gotta do it. He’s gotta get in contact with him again and pay him. Maybe he has Venmo. Or Paypal. Or something else quick that doesn’t involve meeting up. 

Although...meeting up...maybe  _ one  _ more time…

Keith flips over to the app’s messaging system, fueled with the adrenaline rush before his anxiety can get the best of him. 

**i forgot to pay you**

He sends it off, not taking the time to reread the incredibly painful first messages they shared a couple days ago to set up the specifics of their session. That’s all he needs right now - a reminder of exactly how much of an idiot he is. 

Keith pushes up from the couch, busying himself with washing a couple dirty dishes in the sink to get his mind off of it. Combating brain stuff with physical stuff. He’s perfected the practice over the years. 

_ buzz _

His phone vibrating against the coffee table has that adrenaline spiking again, but he forces himself to remain calm - even finishes up the last plate and sets it in the drying rack before walking back over into the living room. 

_ Cuddle Buddy - 1 new message! _

_ oh shit lmao i didnt even realize _

It’s starting to snow outside. Just a very mild drift. 

Keith tries to accept the possibility of not realizing you haven’t been paid for something. If roles were switched, he’d definitely have eyes on the payment before even touching anyone. But, the roles aren’t switched. And Keith’s a certain type of person. And maybe Lance just isn’t.

He thumbs in a response, the pads of his fingers still damp from where he didn’t do a very good job drying them at the sink.

**do you have venmo or anything**

He sends it off right after another zooms in first, his phone blooping with the new message and then immediately playing the woosh of his sent one. Just a breath too late.

_ honestly dont worry about it man _

Oh. 

Wait...what?

Keith frowns, brows furrowing. 

**i can pay you. just tell me how to get it to you.**

As much as a large portion of his life has been built on the kindness of his friends, he’s not about to allow some stranger to let him off the hook. Cuddle buddy or not.

Lance’s next message takes a while to come in. So long, in fact, that Keith finds himself feeling stupid for standing in the middle of his living room and waiting for it. And it’s only until he’s gone back to the kitchen to find something to eat that his phone is buzzing in his pocket.

_ Cuddle Buddy - 1 new message! _

_ ok how about another session? :) _

It has Keith’s stomach doing some impressive aerial work in his body. 

Another session?

Is this just his way of reeling clients in? Letting the first meetup go free of charge so he can lure them into another one?

_ up to you. either way dont worry about it. didnt feel like work anyway. _

Keith sets his phone down on the counter, frustrated with the way his stomach insists on attempting to pull off the quickest backflip in creation. 

This is dumb. He shouldn’t even be in this situation in the first place. Shouldn’t even have to deal with all this topsy turvy shit in his gut. 

You know who’s fault this is?

This is Pidge’s fucking fault.

**i hate you** he sends off to them quickly, because he  _ will  _ have them know they play the most important role in this. The undeniable catalyst in the entire situa-

_ ok definitely didnt get that vibe when i was there. hope you find someone you vibe better with. _

Keith squints. What the fuck are they talk-

Fuck. 

_ FUCK. _

**shit no**

He opened the normal texting app but typed it into the Cuddle Buddy one s _ ome _ -fucking-how - literally such a simple task - how’d he manage to fuck this up?

**no im sorry that wasnt for you**

**i dont hate you**

Ahhh jesus christ. 

Keith collapses into a chair at the small kitchen table, breathing slowly and heavily through his nose. 

Fucking  _ why  _ is he like this…

_ buzz _

No, please.

He peeks out of one eye, not exactly excited.

_ k not gonna lie im a little confused lol _

Keith covers his face with his hands, slowly dragging them down to relieve the pressure. 

There’s only one thing he can do.

**i dont hate you. actually i wanna schedule another session if thats ok.**

Fuck it. Honestly. It’s the least he can do after being such a fucking pain to this guy.

_ oh! sweet ok well just check my calendar thing and pick a time dude _

Right. Right, that’s how this whole thing works.

Right.

Keith goes to Lance’s page and pulls up the schedule like he did the first time.  _ Unlike  _ the first time, though, there’s a drastic decrease in open slots. And just slots in general, many of the weekend and weeknight ones blocked off from appointments completely. 

Keith steadies himself, finger swiping through the available times and lips turning downward as each one he finds doesn’t line up with his own work schedule. None of them. Not a single one. ... _ well... _ not  _ every  _ one…

**the only time that works for me is tonight**

He feels supremely stupid for sending it off. Not only has he not paid for his first time, but he’s also unintentionally told this guy he hates him. And now suddenly he’s going to schedule a session for the very same night?

_ cool you gonna take it? _

Take it? It’s not even two solid days after their first one.  **isnt that too soon**

_ no _

Keith huffs.

He doesn’t understand this whole thing. The dos and don’ts of Cuddle Buddy-ing.  Is he really about to put himself through this again so soon?

He switches back over to the calendar, eyeing the open 8:00 time slot. It’s the last session for the night. He’d be closing Lance’s night out once again.  But damn it...he really wants to feel that. The closeness and the warmth and the security. At least one more time. 

He presses his finger down - perhaps a bit too harshly - and immediately closes the app as soon as the little green checkmark animates over the time slot.

Okay. 

Done and done.

Can’t go back now. 

_ Cuddle Buddy - 1 new message! _

_ sweet see you tonight! _

 

* * *

 

 

It takes a great amount of mental fortitude to come to grips with the fact that Keith survived not only one cuddle session, but is now about to face another. From his own doing. Just like the first one. 

He takes time to make sure the living room falls into that sweet spot of not looking like a complete pigsty, but also not looking absolutely spotless. This includes running his shitty little vacuum over the rug, putting away some leftover dishes, and straightening the mail on the table. Straight, but not too straight. 

Keith huffs a smileless laugh to himself.

_ Straight but not too straight. _

Anyway, everything’s looking pretty nice by the time Lance makes his way through Keith’s front door yet again, the same olive green bomber jacket clinging to his waist as he carries on as if their last conversation wasn’t an utter disaster. 

Keith rolls with it - always jumps at the opportunity to ignore discomfort entirely. In fact, he’s so good at ignoring it that he has nothing better to do than admire the hoodie Lance is wearing tonight - how the cream color stands out against his skin, or maybe the other way around. It fits over his chest much nicer than the baggy sweater Keith’s got on.

“Comin’?”

He’s sat down already. Over on the couch. 

It happens in a blink of an eye and Keith doesn’t have much time to stare after that, his feet bringing him over to where Lance is resting his arm out over the back of the couch, painting a very obvious spot under it that Keith can fill. 

So he does - a little off at first - he has to scoot closer after the initial sit because he gave himself too much room between them. But now he’s here, where he’s supposed to be, and Lance is bringing his arm down around him and tucking him into his side and that weird hiccup in Keith’s heart is back. 

So is the stiffness.

“Relax, buddy.”

“I am.”

“You’re  _ super  _ tense…”

Keith can feel the frustrated sigh at the base of his throat before it rolls off. It’s not his fault. This whole thing is still just so… 

“I know, how ‘bout we lay back a little.”

The suggestion sets off a lot of warning bells in Keith’s head, his body forcing up and away and leaning forward from Lance so he can rest his elbows on his knees.

“Um...or not, I guess.”

Keith runs his hands over his face again. Drags them down. Fucking  _ begs  _ his pulse to stop trying to climb up into his mouth. 

Next to him, Lance is bringing his arm back down but not moving any closer. “Hey...did I do something?”

The thought is ridiculous, Keith shaking his head in his hands. No, Lance didn’t do a fucking thing. It’s his own shit he’s gotta settle. He doesn’t know why he’s freaking out so much. He’s already done this. It isn’t completely new anymore. Maybe it’s-... Maybe…

“Maybe this just isn’t your thing.”

Keith’s eyes drop open, gaze at the table. Fuck that. “I want it to be.”

Lance’s chuckle is kind. “I dunno if that’s how it works, bud.”

It doesn’t matter. Keith wants this. He’s just...maybe a little...well,  _ scared.  _

Outside, the snow has started again, dancing in the light of the street lamps. Keith’s eyes draw from it to where Lance is waiting, and then very quietly: “...please.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. Doesn’t know how to express all the weird shit going on in his brain and in his chest. All he knows is he needs the touch. Craves it. Couldn’t stop imagining it ever since Lance stepped out that door two days ago. He just needs  _ help. _

His thoughts continue on until Lance is moving forward on a decided exhale. “Alrighty, here. How ‘bout this.” He grabs at the remote for the TV and clicks it on, pulling up Stranger Things and then smiling, very gently, at where Keith is still watching him. “Can I help?”

Keith swallows - averts the eye contact - nods all the same. 

And it’s enough for Lance to hum pleasantly and then reach out for him. “Here, I’ll show you the comfiest couch position.” 

The actual positioning doesn’t start until Keith takes his hand, signaling his agreement, and then he doesn’t have to do anything but follow - let himself be pulled backward and to the side until he’s more or less half-lying on Lance, Lance’s hand guiding his head down to rest on his chest. 

It’s ultimately extremely uncomfortable. Extremely awkward. But with every passing second, Keith can feel himself start to melt. Feels how truly soft Lance’s hoodie is pillowing the side of his face. Feels the comforting pull of his wrist so his hand can settle on Lance’s chest just a little further down. 

It’s...actually kinda-

“Good?”

Lance’s voice has his chest vibrating under Keith’s ear - an odd sensation that startles Keith a little, to be honest. But, “Y-...yeah…” It is, actually. It’s-... Yeah, it’s  _ really  _ good. Kind of game-changing, if he’s gonna be truly honest with himself.

He swallows. Watches as he presses his fingertips down just the slightest bit on top of the hoodie...against Lance underneath...one, by one, by one…

The episode of Stranger Things has started by Keith is much more mystified with the sensation. With the warmth of Lance’s arm wrapping him snuggly against himself. The subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. 

It’s new territory for Keith - something he’s never done before - and as scary as it is, he can’t help but eat it up. Especially when Lance’s hand starts to stroke lazily up his arm... Then back down... Then back up again… 

“Lemme know, okay?”

More vibrations. 

Keith nods, hair messing against the soft cream hoodie. 

His hands won’t stop shaking, but it’s okay somehow. Even with the tinge of self consciousness still clinging to the pulse beneath his ribs. Lance doesn’t bring any attention to it. Not anymore. Not after his initial comment. It’s gracious and appreciated and Keith feels the sudden need to fill the silence.

“Are all first times like this, or-...” 

And well, technically it’s not his first time anymore, but he assumes Lance catches his drift.

The tingle is back against his ear. “Everyone’s comfort levels are different, dude. You don’t gotta compare yourself to other people.”

It’s dismissing...and it doesn’t really answer the question...but…

“You like doing this?”

Eleven has a flashback on screen, but Keith isn’t catching any of it with the way Lance’s hand leaves electricity up his arm. 

“What, like just in general?”

Keith nods. More hair muss.

The smile on Lance’s lips gives his answer a light little bounce. “Hell yeah, I do. Getting paid to cuddle - are you kidding me?”

“People don’t try to pull shit?”

“What kinda shit?”

“I dunno… Just like-...” 

His thought stops when he realizes he doesn’t exactly know how to ask. Doesn’t know even more  _ why  _ he decided to ask in the first place. It’s not his business. But…

“You mean like...tryna get handsy and stuff?”

Keith swallows. Nods very shortly. Feels like a complete ass for asking now.

But Lance simply powers on, seeming none the worse for wear. “I got a lotta rules, you know? To keep things legit.”

“Rules…”

“Yep. And keepin’ shit 100% platonic is the first one.”

Keith’s eyes wander toward the large windows - the falling snow. “So no one’s ever tried?”

“Oh people have  _ tried,”  _ his chuckle sends Keith’s head on a momentary trip. “That’s just not what this is. They want that, they gotta switch to Tindr or somethin’, right?”

His hand comes to a gradual stop just above Keith’s elbow, warm and steady from the friction.

Keith brings his gaze back down to the lettering inked into the fabric a few inches from his eyes. It’s too close, the letters undefinable. 

Well then…

“Sorry for asking.”

It’s the obvious thing to say after what he’s done, so he’s not sure why, from out the corner of his eye, he can see Lance’s head tilt down to look at him, brows furrowing. “Hey, no need. You can ask whatever  _ whenever _ , alright? Feel free.”

Keith doesn’t dare complete the eye contact. Not this close. But still, the sentiment… “Okay…” he says, voice getting lost in the hoodie. Then, even quieter, barely slipping out, “...you’re nice…”

The heat that rises to his face is a different kind. Warmer than the constant state of embarrassed flush that’s been plaguing him tonight. 

He’s not entirely sure why it’s there but he hopes to god Lance can’t see it.

“Aw,” more rumbling from the chuckle beneath him - a few rubs against his arm, “Thanks, I think you’re nice too.”

It doesn’t help the heat, and  _ sure as fuck  _ doesn’t help the confusion, because Keith is completely stumped how Lance comes to that conclusion after being told Keith hates him. But...but he’s just gonna take the compliment. Because it  _ is  _ nice, and honestly he’s gotta start making moves to get his pulse dropping into something more healthy.

“...thanks…” he mumbles.

And it earns him the startup of that arm stroke again.

 

———————

 

He pays Lance this time. Actually he sneaks the last payment into this payment and hopes Lance won’t check until he’s home.

It works.

He doesn’t.

Keith immediately pulls up the Cuddle Buddy calendar and slides into bed.

 

* * *

 

 

“Four lattes please, Keith. Two vanilla, one hazelnut.”

The espresso machine grinds angrily as Keith forces himself into action, setting up the to-go cups and pouring flavor shots as it takes its sweet time heating up. 

The cafe he works at may be cool and all, but these bigger orders with only one steam wand is his least favorite thing to do. And Allura knows it. 

“Sorry, Keith - make that three vanilla, one caramel.”

He halts to process, staring at the measured out flavor shots. Why? Why does this person need four lattes? 

Allura’s opening and closing the register drawer at the cashier stand, which means the guy will be over to watch Keith dick around with these drinks for like five minutes because it takes a while with only  _ one fucking wand. _

Great.

It actually takes more like four minutes, because Keith might be in a constant state of stress, but he’s been a barista at this cafe for long enough now to know what he’s doing. Everything gets steamed and foamed and lidded and shoved into a drink holder, in not that bad of a time. And he guesses he can be proud of himself for that.

The bell over the door jingles as the customer leaves, Keith running a rag around the milk clinging to the stupid fucking steam wand as Allura makes her way over. 

“I was hoping one of those lattes were for me,” she jokes, although the rings under her eyes are no laughing matter. 

It’s kind of the defining trait of the morning shift here. 

“I can make you one...”

Her scoff is more of a chuckle. “Please. And make sure to do it in full view of the camera so whoever’s watching can dock us for it.”

Keith drapes the rag over his shoulder, then turns to lean against the counter and cover his face with his hands. Fuck, he’s tired. Maybe if he just rests his eyes for a couple seconds…

Three…

Two…

One…

“You’re sleeping, right?”

Keith grumbles, hands covering his mouth, “...yes, Allura… I’m sleeping…”

He’d be annoyed if he didn’t know deep down in his heart that she’s only looking out for him. It’s kind of what she does, for some reason. Hunk too, when he manages to pop his head through the passthrough window. They’re the only two people Keith can tolerate here, which might play a hand in the whole ‘let’s take Keith under our wing and make sure he’s functioning as a human being’ thing. 

It’s fine, he guesses. Kind of appreciated, sometimes. Like that week where he thought sleeping wasn’t really all that important.

“I have three dozen croissants that were in too long and I need someone to take them home before I’m told to chuck ‘em.”

Speaking of Hunk.

Allura throws him a look of tired perplexion. “Three dozen? What on Earth were you doing that kept you from taking them out?”

Keith has to agree. It  _ is  _ a lot. That’s-… ...math… ...one second… That’s thirty six croissants. 

Hunk is highly unamused as he props himself on the kitchen side of the window to lower his voice. “Freakin’ Iverson.”

“Again?”

“Mmhm. Don’t pull me to talk about  _ nothing  _ if you know there’s something in the oven, you know what I mean?”

“Seems rather self explanatory.”

“ _ Seems,”  _ Hunk’s frowning, then: “Anyway, someone take these home before I’m forced to waste them. You know how I get.”

Keith lets out a weary hum. “The less tears the better...”

“I’ll take some.” Allura’s on it, as she always is - will probably bring them to the nursing home like she seems to do with any sort of leftovers she can smuggle out. How she’s prepared to smuggle out thirty six croissants, though…?

_ buzz _

The vibration in Keith’s back pocket is hard to ignore. Always is. They’re not supposed to be on their phones up front, but...a little peek never hurts.

_ Cuddle Buddy - 1 new message! _

_ youre sneaky, you know that? _

Keith rolls his shoulders, his binder deciding not to cooperate with this particular shirt today. So, Lance found the extra payment. 

He leaves it on unread. Slides his phone back into his pocket. Commits to ignoring the fact that his tummy is doing some more topsy turvy shit. 

He’s not gonna take the money back. Even if Lance insists. Even if Lance forcibly shoves it into his hands. It’s just not happening.

“Keith…”

Hunk’s voice pulls him back to the present. “Huh?”

“You miss all of that?” 

“Uh…” he blinks - keeps his posture loose. “No.”

As always with these things, Hunk’s not mad - just trying to figure out where he lost him. “What’s the last thing you heard me say?”

Whoops. 

Um…

Keith looks around, eyes falling on Hunk, and the espresso machine, and then Allura. Oh yeah. “Allura’s taking the stuff.”

Big whoops, because apparently that was unacceptably long ago.

Hunk presses forward regardless. “Shay’s comin’ at noonish today. That’s all. Just wanted to prep you for that weird shake thing she always orders.”

Keith frowns. “Oh.” Great. “Okay.”

Anyway…

_ buzz _

What, another one?

Keith slips his phone back out. 

_ Cuddle Buddy - 2 new messages! _

_ youre sneaky, you know that? _

_ youre gonna find this extra twenty under your boring black doormat sometime soon _

This one deserves a quick reply.

**my doormat is not boring**

Very quick. Not too crazy. 

Lance’s replies buzz in Keith’s pocket right as a customer approaches the counter, starting the whole chaos back into motion once again.

_ Cuddle Buddy - 2 new messages! _

_ it’s very boring and youre about to be 20 bucks richer my dude _

_ see you friday :) _

 

* * *

 

 

An 8:00 Friday session is, admittedly, not the coolest time slot to have. It makes it very very difficult to mask the fact that Keith has exactly zero Friday night plans with people, whereas an 8:00 Tuesday slot can be played off as a free window of time within his busy social schedule. Even if that’s also not true. 

He tries not to think about it too hard, which, also admittedly, is a very very difficult task for Keith to pull off. So the fact that he takes a break from worrying about how  _ he  _ looks in order to worry about how  _ Lance  _ looks is pretty healthy, he guesses. 

It’s been about a week and a half. He specifically made sure there was a considerable chunk of time between sessions after his last scheduling debacle. Surprisingly, a week and a half is enough time for that clawing nag of Lance-Lance-Lance to die down almost entirely. It gives him the headspace to think about something other than the feeling of arms wrapped around him - or the strangely unique smell of Lance’s cologne - or, well just  _ Lance,  _ honestly. His fucking face. His  _ cute fucking face. _

His peace of mind all goes spiraling into ruin the very second Lance steps through his doorway, all smiles and rosy-nosed from the cold outside. Keith doesn’t even think to check the doormat, because he’s too busy with the troubling realization that there’s a good chance he’ll develop a crush on this guy in the near future. Like, an actual one. A real-life, full-blown crush.

That’s right - Keith’s self-aware.

“What’s goin’ on over  _ here?” _

Lance’s voice cropping up behind him doesn’t help, the scones Keith’s quickly trying to shovel into a bag at the counter starting to crumble. 

Keith attempts to play it off, already upset that he forgot to put today’s leftovers from Hunk away until this very second. “It’s uh…” He tosses another one in the ziplock. Presses his lap against the cupboards because Lance is wildly close with the way he’s looking over his shoulder. “Leftover scones.” 

“Mm…”

His hum is interested. Right up by Keith’s ear. 

Keith shoves another one of the pastries in, lungs a little fuller than they should be. “Do you-…” God he’s close. “Did you want one…?”

There seems to be a moment of consideration, and then...blessedly...Lance is pulling back, his presence easing away and into the living room. 

“I’m good thanks,” his appreciation travels through the apartment. “They look really really good though.”

Keith takes the opportunity to let his pent up breath out, his head hanging and hands gripping the edge of the counter.

Jesus... 

“How was your day?”

Lance is on the couch when Keith finally summons enough willpower to finish off the scones. He’s comfortable, one leg stretched out to lounge on the coffee table, both arms resting over the back of the couch. 

It’s a sight Keith never thought he’d experience in his very own living room. Especially anytime soon. “It was uh...it was fine…” he mumbles just before too much time can pass. No use in regaling him with the tale of the child who smashed a cupcake into the cloth seats right before Keith’s shift ended. “How ‘bout you…?”

Lance nods, cracking his neck in an oddly attractive manner. “Good, good. Bought some tickets to that winter beer fest thing in a couple weeks.” He takes the opportunity between breaths to reach his arms out, fingers wiggling in Keith’s direction as if to summon him over to the couch. “You ever go to that?”

It takes all of Keith’s willpower to not let it send his chest into more wiggly bullshit. Just the sight of it. Instead, he pushes himself to walk in the correct direction, navigating around the coffee table as he steps. “Once, I think…”

He sits and then forces himself to fit in the space Lance makes for him. It’s cozy. Secure. He could lose time like this. 

“Should be pretty cool.”

Speaking of losing time, the next however long crawls by like the cars in the icy snow outside. It’s their third session and Keith has to wonder when he’s going to stop feeling awkward. When he can just fully appreciate the gentle glide of Lance’s fingers over the side of his arm. Not soon, apparently.

“I have questions.”

He’s not wearing the cream hoodie but his chest shakes with his chuckle the exact same way. “Okay, shoot.”

Oh. Really? That was way easier than he was expecting. Okay, then...

Keith lightly traces the star printed on the fabric. “How many people do you see?”

Lance’s response time is uncharacteristically slacking, making more sense when he finally does say, “... _ technically,  _ I’m not supposed to answer that.”

“Why not…”

“Supposedly it shatters the whole ‘loyalty’ concept for the client.”

“Oh.” Keith guesses that makes sense.

“Yeah. Sooo ask another one.”

Another one, huh? “Are you actually 25?” Because that’s what it says on his profile, but Keith has to assume there’s a lot of tweaking on those things for maximum match-success.

Another drawn out response time. Worryingly so. And then Lance lets out a sigh, “...’kay, you got me. I’m actually 16. Just don’t tell anyone, okay - I really need this money.”

Keith’s head whips up - goes against his whole ‘no-looking’ policy because hang on-

“I’m kidding,” Lance is-...Lance is laughing. “I’m fucking with you, man. Oh my god, your face.”

He’s-...

Keith frowns, stuffing his face back down into Lance’s chest. And definitely none of it has to do with the fact that his smile is grossly contagious this close up. 

Lance’s laugh dies down, although the amusement in his voice never really leaves. “God… Okay, sorry - sorry. Yes, I’m actually 25.”

Keith’s insides are heating up. It’s uncomfortable but mostly it’s very alien and concerning. And when’s  _ this  _ shit gonna stop too?

“Aw, don’t be mad.”

“M’not mad.”

The way the hand on his arm slides back, and then under, and then between until it comes down to rest on Keith’s stomach is at first alarmingly intimate. It’s like a hug while they’re both slouched to the side. He  _ likes  _ it - don’t get him wrong. It’s just...also a new thing. 

“Anything else?” The smile in his tone is comforting. 

Keith wants him to talk like that all the time. 

“Do you-...” his words stick in his throat - betray him immediately - just completely throw him under the bus and then leave him out in the open. 

Lance must hear it because he gives an encouraging squeeze. “It’s cool - you can ask.”

Keith steels himself. He will  _ not  _ let his own nerves fuck this up again. Especially on the question he started this whole thing to get to. “Do you…” another pause, then: “Are you dating someone...?”

It comes off in the way that he doesn’t want it to. Definitely sounds like he’s asking because he’s interested in Lance’s availability. Which  _ isn’t  _ why he’s doing it. He’s just curious. And it’s not like the answer’s going to-

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve been with this one girl for a while now.”

…

Keith swallows. 

Okay. 

Okay, good. Yes. That’s what he wanted to hear. 

Good.

Great.

“Anything else?”

Keith’s mouth opens, but he’s got no words at the ready. So… 

He shakes his head, “Mm-mm…” curls his fingers against the soft fabric near Lance’s stomach. “Thanks.”

“No prob.”

Outside, the street lamps start to compete with the Christmas lights below them.

Inside, Keith lets his eyes close, tries not to breathe in Lance’s cologne, and loses.


	2. Chapter 2

Coincidentally, because the universe likes to constantly make Keith a liar, he does end up having plans on Saturday. 

He’s not exactly fired up about trading in a quiet get-together at Shiro’s for a night out at the closest bar - gay-friendly or not. It’s really, just  _ super  _ not his thing. But Pidge makes sure his drinks get barely even with the ice at the bottom before they’re being refilled. Several times. Until it’s much easier to deal with the fact that he’s here and not at home. 

Speaking of, he’s not super sure where Pidge is at, but he’s thinking now is a good time to catch Shiro up on the fact that he’s been sharing physical space with someone for a couple weeks now. It’s a safety thing, of course. Just making preparations in the event that Lance is actually a serial killer who gets close to his victims by entering their homes and creating and lowering their guard. You know how it is.

“Shiro…” The music is way too loud, making Keith have to raise the pitch of his voice just to be heard - but that’s a whole  _ other  _ thing he’s not going to get into right now. “I have to tell you something and you can’t tell Pidge.”

Shiro’s beer sparkles in the dancing lights as he takes a sip and then sets it down to raise an eyebrow at him. “Feel like I should be concerned about that last part.” 

He’s the perfect person to come here with, just between him and Keith. There’s something about the general physicality of Shiro that wards off typical bar-related bullshit. Even better is the fact that people think, for some bizarre reason, that he and Keith are dating. He doesn’t know why. He can’t figure it out. But he also doesn’t spend a lot of time on it because he’s just grateful he’s got this sort of effortless forcefield around himself, protecting him from any kind of attempts at getting his attention.

It leaves the entire night open for drunken confessions such as these. 

“You know that site Pidge was joking about?”

He’s leaning in, lips loosened with Long Islands, but Shiro doesn’t seem to be grasping his direction. “You’re gonna have to be way more specific than that, Keith. Pidge talks about shit they find online almost constantly.”

It’s absolutely spot-on reasoning and it leaves Keith feeling a touch silly. Because yes, of course they do. Specifically, then: “The professional cuddlers…”

It takes a second. “...yes?” Then another one. Then one more, the lights passing over Shiro’s face as he works it out in his head before frowning. “What, you wanna try it or something?”

“Have.”

“What?”

“I’ve done it.”

Their waitress stops by for a moment of relief, Shiro turning to gesture that they’re fine. Then he turns back, blinking slowly as he stares at Keith point blank, eyes narrowing.

Keith frowns. “What.”

“You ordered a cuddle buddy?”

“Yes.”

“By yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Without anyone forcing you to?”

Now Keith’s the one to stare. “Why the hell are you looking at me like that?” 

It should act as some sort of social cue, Keith thinks, but Shiro continues on, keeping the eye contact but slowly turning his head away. “No, it’s-...” More narrowing eyes. “I’m just having trouble imagining you...doing that…”

Keith huffs - takes a generous swig of his drink, the flavor combinations making him shudder just the slightest before returning to his frown. And alright, actually...that’s fair. He has a hard time accepting the fact that he’s done it too. 

“How is it?”

He glances back up, “Huh?”

“How is it,” Shiro’s different now, a smile stretching ever so gradually across his face. “Do you like it, or…”

“No,” Keith answers immediately, even though the truth is: “I mean...yeah, kinda…” He scoots his glass forward on the table, watching the water trail it leaves reflect the pink and green lights. “It freaks me out, but it’s good.”

Above them, the song changes to something with less bass and more extraneous, high pitched noises that make it hard to hear. 

Shiro leans in just as Keith’s eyes catch on Pidge stepping out from the bathroom across the bar. 

“Don’t tell Pidge,” he orders, making sure to sear it into Shiro’s brain with his eyeballs.

“I won’t-”

“Do  _ not.” _

“I won’t, I won’t.” These commitments are more sincere - said with more genuine honesty - then: “I’m just glad it’s working out for you.”

Keith draws his attention away, ready to be done with this. And actually, this whole place entirely. He’s ready to leave.

Maybe one more drink.

“I’m craving enchiladas so we gotta find a place on the way home,” Pidge declares before even sitting down. 

Keith nods.

Drink. Food. Then home.

 

* * *

 

 

On Monday, after dragging his ass back to his apartment as soon as his shift is done at the cafe, Keith fumbles with his keys long enough to notice the crisp green corner of a twenty dollar bill sticking out from under his doormat.

 

* * *

 

 

Tuesday’s session works out extremely well and Keith’s not entirely sure why. 

Nothing is different. He’s still awkward and Lance is still cute and very kind to him and they still kinda half-lie on the couch pretending to watch Stranger Things, just like always. Keith says ‘pretending’ because his attention is still divided - still caught between picking up key plot points and getting lost in the way pressing against Lance’s chest makes his insides go all gooey.

It’s so easy to get completely wrapped up in it. To want to just solely exist in this moment and this moment only. Keith realizes the dramatics of it all, and that it probably doesn’t even need to be Lance specifically - that he’d react to pretty much anyone like this if they held him this way. Because it’s-…

Well it’s no surprise to anyone at all that he’s - what the internet calls it - ‘touch-starved’. Pure and simple. Years of closing himself off...avoiding meeting new people…it doesn’t exactly cultivate too many opportunities to be touched. In any way, honestly. So this - lying here, snuggled up against someone nice and warm, his head rising and falling gently with their every breath, the soothing trance of their fingers running smoothly down and back up his arm…

It’s good.

_ Real  _ good.

And Tuesday’s session works out extremely well.

 

* * *

A December 1st-worthy amount of snow has covered the city just in time for the winter beer fest. And before anyone says it,  _ no,  _ Keith didn’t heavily insist that they go just because he knows Lance is going. That would be extremely lame. Very grade-school. 

Okay, maybe it has a little bit to do with it.

“Wonder how many strands of lights they used on this thing…”

Shiro’s question floats out as a puff in the brisk night between them, his leather jacket scrunching as he twists to assess the Christmas lights decorating the long stretch of food vendors that flank the closed-off street.

Pidge is on it, nose red as they take a sip of their beer, “Alright well lemme see. I’d say there’s at least three strands per vendor, and there’s…” - pause for counting - “Twenty one vendors just in our line of sight - so not accounting for the strands on the light poles and walkways, and considering some vendors might actually have varying amounts of strands per stall-”

They keep going but Keith’s zoned out by now, burying his mouth and nose as best as he can in the scarf Hunk insisted on knitting him last year. As much as the crowds are messing up his vibe, he’s gotta admit the atmosphere is really nice here. Everyone’s in a good mood, smiling and joking with the friends they came with, and lit - both figuratively and literally - by the beer and Christmas lights in question. 

Every once in a while, Keith will glance around, half-curious. It’s not that big of an event. It only takes up one block. So the odds of seeing Lance here are actually pretty good. But it’s not like he’s banking on it. And it’s not like he’d approach him or anything. Jesus, definitely not. He’s just curious.

Besides, he’s already pretty entertained with the group of guys all wearing matching reindeer onesies across the way, the beer foam clinging to their impressive mustaches with every sip. 

“When’s that cover band supposed to go on - you guys know?”

Pidge’s question receives a double head-shake from the other two. They didn’t even know they were coming here until Keith brought it up for a third time, and the two of them caught on that it was actually something he wanted to do. 

The stage set up at the end of the street is lit but empty. No help whatsoever.

Keith isn’t exactly prepared to offer much more help on the subject, so he goes back to nonchalantly glancing between each of the smiling faces around them. 

A few stalls away, there’s a huge group of middle-aged women - dangerously close to sloppy-drunk but feeling it, their cackles loud enough to pick apart from the crowd. 

Across from them is a couple with a puppy in one of those baby-carriers you strap to your front. The guy laughs at whatever his wife says and then pats the dog. Carefully of course. He probably doesn’t want to knock off the felt antler headband fit comfortably on top of its head.

Next to them is another small group - a guy wearing a run-of-the-mill santa hat, his friend passing up the theatrics to instead concentrate on holding three full plastic cups of beer. The third guy laughs at the attempt, his own singular beer secure in his gloved hands and his eyes sparkling very...very familiarly.

Keith stalls for a moment.

Oh. 

Oh wait, that’s Lance. That’s actually Lance.

“-like...80’s covers or some shit like that…”

Pidge’s voice registers a little too late, Keith blinking and focusing back into the conversation at hand. 

They weren’t talking to him, right?

“You like 80’s covers and you know it, Pidge.”

“Yeah, when I’m too drunk to know better.”

“Then drink more.”

Okay good, they were talking to Shiro. Keith’s off the hook.

His eyes flick back over to where Lance is still laughing, his breath foggy in the cold. 

He’s got something heavier on than his normal bomber jacket - thicker and puffier and black instead of olive-green. The hood has that light, faux fur around the opening that more expensive coats have. 

Keith’s fingers twitch in his pockets.

Could that be as soft as he’s imagining it is? 

“...-on my own! I have enough sense not to be stuck in your era, Shiro!”

“Excuse me - I was born in the tail end of the 80’s. It’s hardly my era.”

Lance takes a sip of his beer, words muted by the distance stretching between him and where Keith can’t help but watch. His mittens are cute - help him cling onto the large plastic cup as his friend must say something funny because he’s cracking up again.

It’s a really good look for him. 

“...-Keith?”

Whoops. Not again.

Keith drags his attention back to where he is now most definitely being talked to. “Sorry, what?”

Pidge’s glasses are starting to fog up. “Deep fried oreos. You want some? ‘Cuz I want some. But Shiro doesn’t want some and I’m gonna feel gross if I’m the only one eating them.”

Keith blinks, trying to comprehend. 

Deep fried oreos. 

Oh, from that stall right behind them. 

“Yeah,” he says, muffled by his scarf. “How much are they?”

“I dunno, like five or something.”

That’s not as much as he thought they’d be, honestly. It takes a good while, but he manages to pull the bill out of his wallet with chilly fingers and then hands it over. “Here.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m not drinking.” 

Pidge takes the money with a gloved finger gun, “The best,” and then begins their slide through the groups of happy people to approach the stand. 

Keith doesn’t really catch the tail end because he’s back to finding Lance without his brain authorizing it. He and his friends have shifted over a little bit - closer to one of those pop-up space heaters - but there he is, bright as ever.

“Okay, I’m dying to know.”

Shiro’s interrupting far too early.

But Keith’s ready to play it off. “What.”

“You haven’t stared off like that in a  _ long  _ long time.”

Keith rolls his eyes, burying his nose back into his scarf. “Stop watching me, creeper.”

“I’m just saying, it’s gotta be good.” He takes a drink and then positions himself so he’s shoulder to shoulder with Keith, obviously but still casually trying to get his perspective and pick out what’s got his attention from the crowd. “Is it a dog?”

“No.”

“Because I saw that dog with the antlers-”

“It’s not a dog,” Keith insists, and then, with even more adamacy, “It’s not  _ anything.  _ I’m just zoning out.”

But Shiro will not be swayed, continuing his search next to him. “I see you zone out pretty much every day, Keith. This is not that. You’re definitely looking at something.” It only takes a second for the possibility to click, his voice rising into something even more interested. “Or some _ one…” _

Keith purposely drags his eyes away from Lance, which is a huge fucking shame because he was just in the middle of reenacting some sort of  _ something.  _ He isn’t sure what, but it involved a lot of arm flailing and it was very entertaining and Shiro  _ ruined  _ it.

“Who is it?”

“No one.”

“It’s someone.”

“Why are you so annoying today?” He swears to god if he didn’t know better, he’d think Shiro was the nagging older brother he was separated from at birth.

“Think about it, Keith. This is the perfect environment to make connections. It’s pretty, everyone’s enjoying themselves-”

“Shiro-”

“-we could just walk up real quick and introduce ourselves and you could get their number-”

_ “Shiro-” _

“Okay, no number - just an introduction. Just meet them once, Keith - I can help you-”

“I don’t  _ need  _ an introduction, okay? I already know him so just  _ leave it alone.”  _

He snaps it. Kind of. Feels the heat in his cheeks from being prodded so much even before he realizes the gravity of what he’s said - before what he’s said connects with Shiro as well.

Shit.

God damn it.

“You know him?”

“No.”

“Who is he?”

“No one.”

“Which one-”

Keith’s graciously saved by Pidge’s return, the deep-fried oreos smelling like absolutely beautiful death as they’re held out in the middle of their group.

“Okay so...the amount of grease is worrying - I’ll give you that…” they say, peering into the little paper holder in their hand.

Keith’s reeling, desperate for the distraction. “You go first.”

“Valiant. If I die, wrap the rest up and bring them to my grave.”

And with that, Pidge pulls one of their gloves off with their teeth, stuffs it into their coat pocket, and then goes in for one of the crispy oreos. 

Meanwhile, Shiro hasn’t stopped staring in Keith’s direction, apparently making enough mental connections on his own and just as desperate for answers as Keith is for it to be dropped entirely.

But, Keith grants him a quick look. More like an eyebrow raise. A silent  _ ‘what???’ _ .

And Shiro’s ready, eyes narrowing as he noiselessly mouths his conclusion.  _ ‘...cuddle buddy…?’ _

Keith resists the urge to huff. Of course he’d figure it out. There’s only one new person Keith’s mentioned recently - for a  _ long  _ time actually. 

He glances at Pidge. Makes sure they’re still distracted with the oreo. Then he quickly nods at Shiro, who doesn’t waste any time in letting his eyes swiftly roam the people around them and then mouth once he’s returned:  _ ‘Which one?’ _

God. Are they really doing this? Right now?

Keith steadies himself and then zeros in his stare on where Lance is smiling in all his friendly glory, cheeks rosy. 

Pidge has said something and Keith hums in response, but doesn’t stop staring until he sees Shiro look in the same direction, seem to pick out the boy in question, and then turn back to him, eyebrows raised slightly and mouth upturned in what looks like surprised appreciation. 

Keith can’t help but roll his eyes this time.

“Here,” Pidge nudges the food container closer to Keith, who doesn’t have any other option now but to indulge them. 

He eats the oreo in one bite, cheeks full as he tries to stuff down the weird feelings in his gut. 

Over on the other side of the street, Lance continues to laugh, none the wiser to Keith’s social turmoil.

 

* * *

 

 

Thankfully, Shiro doesn’t get the opportunity to trick Keith into talking to Lance, which means they don’t actually see each other until the Tuesday after.

By then, much more snow has fallen, the temperature has dropped, and the warmth radiating off Lance as Keith lets his head rest on top of his shoulder feels even more cozy.

They’re sitting up tonight, Lance’s arm tucked securely around Keith as something not very interesting flickers on the TV in front of them. 

“Did you go to that beer thing?” Keith asks quietly. Like he didn’t spend a good portion of that night admiring him from afar. No one else needs to know that.

Lance hums a yes, the vibration buzzing from where he’s rested his cheek on top of Keith’s head. “Pretty fun… Cold, though.”

The same jacket with the fuzzy-lined hood thrown over one of Keith’s kitchen chairs shows that the chill is here to stay. 

Keith brings his legs up. Tucks them along the couch. Wants to stop himself because he knows the answer, but it comes out anyway. “You went with your girlfriend?”

It’s a little too quiet, Lance watching the last line delivered on the screen and then bringing his attention back with a calm little: “Hm?”

Keith clears his throat a bit. He’s just curious, is all. Trying to get the conversation started. “You went to the beer thing with your girlfriend? It seems like a girlfriend thing.”

“Oh,” the nonchalance with which he says it is soothing, “No, just went with some friends. She couldn’t make it.”

It’s what Keith already knows. He knows she wasn’t there, first hand. But now he can ask: “How long have you guys been together?”

A pause. Thinking, probably. “...‘booout...six months?”

The TV flashes to an annoying commercial with too-loud Christmas music. Keith winces, turning a bit to block it out with the muffle of Lance’s sweater. It only kind of works.

“You good?”

“Mhm.”

The commercial lasts too long. Is too obnoxious. Seems like it might be enough to make Keith shut the TV off entirely when suddenly the volume is dropping - heavily - almost by half its original loudness.

Keith peeks, eyes landing on the remote in Lance’s hand.

Oh.

“...thanks.”

“No prob.”

It takes a few minutes to pull himself out of the self-consciousness of that one, but Lance is kind as always, leaving things quiet until Keith seems to untense a little more. 

Then they’re back to relaxation. Back to breathing in sync. Back to:

“So who’s-... What’s her name…?” It’s much easier to hear now that the TV isn’t blaring.

“Who?”

“Your girlfriend.”

Another pause, heavy, and then: “Man, you sure are curious about her, aren’t you?”

Keith frowns, eyes at the floor even with the tease laced so obviously in Lance’s voice. “No…” It’s got Lance’s shoulder bouncing a bit with his laugh. And alright, Keith can catch  _ some  _ hints. “Sorry. Forget I asked…”

But, “It’s okay, man. Don’t worry about it.” And he actually sounds like he means it - no ill will or anything. Not even hesitancy. Just a moment to let his chuckle die down. And then, with a more direct, but no less amused murmur. “And her name’s Jessica.”

It lingers. Floats from his lips to the window and then back to where Keith is letting it sink in. 

Jessica. 

“Hey,” Lance is moving now - a fresh direction - his free hand dropping on top of Keith’s knee as he tilts his head down at bit to him. “Wanna try something? Feels really good.”

It takes a second to keep up, Keith picking his head up just in time. “Uh...what-...what kind of something?”

“Are you okay with people touching your face?” Only one tick from the clock above them needs to pass before Lance is realizing what he’s said and rearranging it to fit their situation. “Are you okay with  _ me  _ touching your face?”

Keith’s frown isn’t there for any other reason except for the fear of the Unknown™. And he really hopes that’s translating. “Uh…”

“You don’t have to be.”

“No, that’s-...” How does he say this? “I’m okay with it.” Let’s be honest, he’d probably be okay with almost any kind of touching as long as Lance’s hands are the ones doing it.

Thankfully, he’s just the person suggesting it.

“Alright, nice.” Lance brings his arm out from around Keith, most likely not catching the way it makes his frown deepen. Instead, he moves so that he’s facing him, one leg tucked under himself on the couch, the other hanging off. “So I’m just gonna touch your face a little then. Just really gently. It sounds weird now, but I promise it feels awesome.”

Keith swallows, concerned by the sudden face-to-face position Lance has put them in, but undeniably interested in how it’s going to feel. Even if yes, it  _ does  _ sound  _ extremely  _ weird.

Lance smiles...one of those warm, trusting smiles that Keith can feel in his bones. “You can close your eyes if you want.”

It sounds like a nice suggestion but Keith’s pulse is already skyward, so, “Okay…” except he doesn’t. He keeps them open. Just drops his gaze to their laps and waits until he hears Lance say…

“Ready…?”

A nod. That’s all it takes. All Keith has the fortitude to do. All he can get out and then Lance is slowly reaching forward, arm bent at the elbow and breath even as…

As…

It starts at Keith’s cheek… 

The backs of Lance’s fingers… 

A leisurely brush down the side of his face...then under his jawline...then back up his other cheek…

It slows time. Drags everything very close. Then very far apart. Until it’s something else entirely and all Keith can concentrate on is the touch.

There’s more. The pads of Lance’s fingers, warm and confident...they spread across until he’s cupping the side of Keith’s face in the palm of his hand...holding comfortingly…

Keith’s eyes flutter closed. The delicate touch against his skin...he leans into it without realizing it...presses his face against the warmth of Lance’s hand as if it’ll keep it there.

“...how’s that…?”

Keith nods...notes the subtlety of Lance’s pinky padding lightly behind his ear…feels the rush of contentment flooding his chest...draping over him like a blanket.

“...more…?”

More...yes…

Lance’s second hand mirrors the first, framing Keith’s face far more gently than anyone should be able to. He smoothes the pads of his thumbs under Keith’s eyes...just below the cheekbones...trails one up the bridge of his nose and then slowly uses both to trace rainbows just above Keith’s eyebrows…

In his chest, Keith’s pulse doesn’t know what to do... Feels like it should be bursting, but is unbelievably lulled by the sweep of Lance’s fingers...

“Mm…” he hums, far too comfortable to care how it sounds.

He can hear the sweet grin on Lance’s lips. “...you like that…?”

Yes…

This might be the best he’s  _ ever  _ felt...

He could fall asleep like this.

“Mm...tired…”

Lance’s thumbs pass under his eyes again. That’s quickly becoming Keith’s favorite. “Wanna take a nap…? I can keep going…”

The suggestion sounds perfect...doesn’t need any thought at all, Keith nodding and not even opening his eyes as he brings himself forward to stretch out and rest the back of his head in Lance’s lap.

And that’s where he falls asleep...at 8:30...with one hand sweeping his bangs from his forehead...the other slowly tracing along the planes of his face.

 

\------------

 

Keith wakes with a start, the street lamp outside the only light shining in through the window.

He’s on the couch.

The TV’s off. 

The blanket draped over him is from the foot of his bed in his room.

He reaches for his phone, eyes squinting from the screen’s brightness.

3:42am

* * *

 

 

He’s two payments off now.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith feels excessively strange for actually falling asleep with someone else in his apartment. Not only asleep, but so completely dead to the world that he could be slipped out from under and covered up and all that shit without ever waking. And to top it all off, it was Lance.

Or maybe... 

Actually…

Now that he thinks about it - truly, with a clearer head - Keith is glad it was Lance. It’s true he’s only been seeing him for about a month now, but there’s something about him that just makes Keith feel so comfortable. So good.  _ Safe,  _ even. 

The internet tells him that this sort of reaction is expected. That engaging in physical contact with another person will cultivate feelings of intimacy and affection. He just doesn’t know if it should apply to his and Lance’s situation.

The physical contact - it’s there obviously. And the feelings of affection - they’re definitely there on Keith’s side. But that’s just it. Only on Keith’s side. Because this is Lance’s job. This is what he does for a living. He gets close and snuggles up with -  _ however  _ many people - all the time. For money.  _ Plus,  _ he has a girlfriend for non-monetary snuggling. 

They’re all things that Keith has to keep in the back of his mind. 

That he’s just another client.

Just another paycheck.

And Lance may be the nicest person he’s ever met, but Keith hasn’t needed someone at his side for 25 years now. And that doesn’t have to change just because someone is showing him affection for the first time.

 

* * *

 

 

As if to answer why everything seems to be hinging on heavy emotions lately, Keith’s period hits him like a god damn Mac truck.

He stands there at work, practically slumped over the counter as he curls ribbon for the Christmas cookie packages they’re handing out soon. Allura mostly leaves him alone, noting something about his sickly appearance only once at the ripe hour of 6:30am when they opened, and then minding her own business after that. 

Keith isn’t sure how privy Allura is to his whole...situation. It’s not like he included it in his first-day-introductions or anything. Honestly the only people he  _ knows for a fact  _ know are Pidge and Shiro. Everyone else - well he just kind of exists and blesses high heaven that his binder is decent.

“You’re sure you’re alright...?”

There it is. Keith knew it was only a matter of time before she rolled back around. “M’fine…” he mumbles, pressing the ribbon flat between his thumb and the blade of the scissors and pulling with a tired  _ zzzzzzzzzzip! _

The curl comes out loose. 

He tosses the barely finished product into the box with the rest and reaches for the next one.

Only two hundred and thirty nine more to go.

“Have you eaten today, Keith?”

“Yes I have, Allura.” That’s a lie.

Allura probably catches it, but is too nice to push, considering the hollow eyes her coworker’s currently sporting. Instead, she slips him a plastic cup of ice water under the counter, silent but making it known that she expects it to be empty by the end of the hour. 

Keith blinks at it tiredly, traps the strand of ribbon, and pulls it up.

_ zzzzzzzip! _

 

\--------------

 

**i need to cancel tonight**

The heating pad he’s got draped low across his stomach is helping, but he’s still in no condition to be socializing. Outside his window, past the off-white faerie lights Pidge insisted would up the cool-factor of his bedroom, the flakes are chunky and sticking to everything they land on. It probably wouldn’t even be good for Lance to be out in this anyway. Keith doesn’t need to feel bad. Right?

_ Cuddle Buddy - 1 new message! _

_ ok dude! everything alright? _

Besides his insides tearing themselves apart, yes, everything is absolutely dandy.

**feel like shit. i’ll reschedule sometime soon to make up**

He cranks the heating pad up to full blast, pressing it against himself with one hand and letting his eyes close. 

He needs to get a pillow-top for his mattress. Or maybe it’s just because he’s in pain. Yes, it could just be because the world’s ending.

_ buzz _

_ Cuddle Buddy - 1 new message! _

_ no worries. you sure you dont want me to come over? Sometimes sick cuddles are the best :) _

Keith huffs a laugh to himself. 

Sick cuddles.

Right...he’s sick. 

It’s fine. Lance doesn’t know. And anyway, Lance coming over means Keith would have to shower. And put his binder back on. And act like he’s  _ not  _ prepared to kill someone if they say even one wrong thing.

No fucking thanks.

**it’s ok** He guesses he should be nicer.  **thanks**

Lance’s reply both relieves him and opens up that big lonely mess in his chest again.

_ alright feel better man! :) _

 

\---------------

 

Keith’s no stranger to the concept of FOMO. On the contrary, his fear of missing out is actually quite up to par with everyone else. This means, of course, that it only takes a few minutes in bed alone for it to sink in that he should be getting cuddled right now, but isn’t. That he  _ should  _ be in someone’s arms - should be getting held - maybe even hugged a little - but he’s not. He’s alone. 

And it may be the hormones, but he feels very, very,  _ very  _ fucking sorry for himself.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day is much better. Self-pity-wise, that is. He still feels like shit, but the looming sadness is gone so he can get back to curling ribbon like an asshole in peace. 

He drinks the glasses of water Allura insists on placing near him and only cuts his finger on the scissors twice instead of his usual three times.

 

* * *

 

 

Two days after the missed session, Keith’s phone is buzzing in his pocket, Pidge most likely ignoring it from the driver’s seat as they whip around the corner to reach the Papa Johns store on time.

They’d called with  _ just  _ enough time for the people to make a pizza and have it ready for pickup before closing for the night. Something about technical system malfunction or something. 

Keith doesn’t remember. He’s much more concerned with the message waiting for him in the Cuddle Buddy app.

_ hope youre feeling better today buddy!!! _

It’s a nice thing to do - to check up on Keith. 

**i am thanks**

Lance is just a good guy in general, it seems. 

_ awesome! dunno if youre up to reschedule but my 7:00 had to cancel so the spots open if you want it! _

The car is lurching to a stop, barely within the lines in the parking lot as Pidge hastily unclips their seatbelt, eyes zeroing in on the prize. “Don’t fail me now, Daddy Johns…”

Keith suppresses a smile, bracing for the car door to slam and then rereading Lance’s message in the silence. 

Tonight? 7:00’s only a couple hours away… But yikes, does he really want to.

**so many cancellations** he types, trying to buy himself time to think with a joke that he hopes lands.

It does. Thankfully.

_ i know right!! i need to start steppin my game up or something :0 _

Another smile to suppress. Alright focus. 7:00. Can he really stress-eat with Pidge and get back in two hours?

**7s kind of cutting it close**

_ we can tweak it if you want. im free the whole night. the spot just technically starts at 7 _

Keith thinks, eyes following the muted fast talking that Pidge is doing with the Papa Johns cashier inside. 

_ no pressure tho man. just thought of you when it opened up. _

And oh, why does  _ that  _ make Keith feel so good…?

**can we do 7:30 instead?**

_ we can do whatever you want ;) _

Wh-... Keith’s heart lurches. Whoa, wha-

_ omg wrong eyes _

_ omg jesus hang on  _

Wait…

_ lmao sorry. definitely meant :) _

_ please dont report me lmao _

The driver’s side door flying open has Keith literally jumping in his seat. Holy crap, what’s-... Lance just used the wrong thing. No need for his pulse to be picking up so interestedly like this. 

Relax. Focus.

**it’s ok**

_ 7:30 _

**7:30**

_ yes good. see you then man _

Keith lets out his breath, clicking his phone display off and letting his head fall back against the headrest.

Pidge shoves the pizza box into his lap.

Their drive back to Pidge’s apartment is no less frenzied than their drive here.

 

\-------------

 

It doesn’t take a lot to set Keith into the first level of panic. Right now? It’s the fact that it’s nearly 7:50 and he’s just finally getting through the front doors to his apartment building, his phone dead as a doornail in his pocket. 

He finds Lance in the hallway, leaning casually next to his door and just as casually thumbing through his phone until he sees him.

“There ya are-”

“Sorry,” Keith’s doing his best to not overreact, fumbling with his keys in front of himself. “Sorry, my phone died- I couldn’t get to the app-”

“It’s cool dude, don’t worry about it.”

He says it with a smile, but Keith still feels the pressure to speed things up - move things along - get them to where they need to be if he could just get his fucking key into the lock-

“Hey.”

The fingers coming to rest over his are unexpected. Have him freezing solidly enough that it’s easy for Lance to pluck the ring from his hold and ease the key in without issue. 

“It’s totally fine,” he says, turning them and then handing them back. He even opens the door so Keith can be the first to step through. 

Keith hesitates but gets with the program quickly enough, pushing forward and convincing himself to believe the words coming out of Lance’s mouth. That everything  _ is  _ fine. It almost sort of works too, until Keith goes to take off his coat and remembers one very important thing.

“Um…” he brings it back around himself, “I need to change.” He’s aware that he’s embarrassing himself by reaching this level of franticness. It’s just he likes to have everything the way it’s supposed to be and have  _ himself  _ the way he’s supposed to be before Lance is over and he’s not-

“Keith,” the hands on him have him freezing yet again - just like at the door. Except this time, they’re on his forearms, making sure to get his eye-contact until reaching up to just below the shoulders. “It’s okay, okay?” Lance insists, only his tone has eased off into something gentle. Something soft. Like his smile. “Everything is totally fine. Just do me a favor and breathe, please.” His hands move higher - come to settle against the sides of Keith’s face, just like a few nights back. “You can do that, yeah?”

It’s got time going all fucked up again… Pressing out. Pulling forward. But wow, do Lance’s hands feel good on his face. “Y-...yeah…”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm…”

“Thanks...” 

He smiles, so genuinely that Keith can’t help but let his focus drop down to it. To his lips. To the way the corners of his mouth curl when he grins like this. It’s mesmerizing up close. And Keith...he...he wants to-

“I’ll be here, okay? Go do whatever you gotta do... Take your time...”

Keith blinks. 

Swallows. 

Flicks his eyes back up at where Lance’s haven’t strayed. “Okay.”

The hands disappear, “I’ll be here…”

And then Keith disappears behind his door too.

 

\-------------

 

Lance is waiting for him like he said he’d be when Keith finally gets his shit together. He’s watching the snow fall in front of the big wall of windows, posture relaxed. 

Keith has to take a second to appreciate it. His silhouette against the Christmas lights. How soft his hoodie looks. How soft his hair looks. How soft his expression looks. 

His turn is unhurried when he hears Keith’s weight sets off the floorboards. “These windows are so cool… Such a fucking vibe, man...”

He turns back thoughtfully, unknowingly allowing Keith time to readjust himself under his sweater. And it’s going to sound stupid, especially with the way he’s acted in the past ten minutes, but… “Can I-... Is it okay if we just, like...hug...for a sec…”

Yeah. It’s sounds  _ extremely  _ stupid. But Lance is turning with a sweet little chuckle, untucking one hand from his pocket to hold an arm up in welcome. 

Keith moves forward to fill the space, eyes falling shut in satisfaction when he’s finally able to wrap his arms around Lance’s middle, the arms coming down to hold him like he hoped they would. 

It’s an instant endorphin boost. Has Keith’s insides warm as he buries his face in Lance’s hoodie and lets the feeling wash over him. 

“Glad you’re feelin’ better…” 

Lance’s voice rumbles from his chest. It’s impossible not to absorb it. Keith would never even think to fight it.

It’s really,  _ really  _ good. And maybe they can just stand like this for the rest of the night…

Lance lets out a little exhale above him, then says, lowly into the top of Keith’s hair, “Wanna go lie down…?”

It takes more than a few seconds to register, everything Keith’s used to doing up until this moment not pairing with the suggestion. “...lie down?”

“Yeah, seems like a good night for it.”

Keith turns his head. Rests the other side of his face on Lance’s chest. “...you mean...in bed…?”

He can hear the understanding grin in Lance’s words. “I do… That’s actually where I usually start with people, but...it’s totally fine if you don’t wanna. We can just stick to the couch.”

Keith’s brain is hazy from overreacting. The thought of him and Lance...in his bed… He’s having trouble imagining it. 

“Also, it’d be a better place to fall asleep than the couch.”

That last sentiment is paired with a couple rubs of Lance’s hand across his back, a very obvious attempt to soothe after what could’ve been taken as a a jab.

It’s not, though. An insult. Keith doesn’t take it as one, at least. He’s much too focused on playing out the scenario in his head before it has the chance to become a reality. 

Lance…

With him...

In his bed…

“Whatdaya say…?” is murmured above him, the embrace around him tightening a little, “Wanna give it a try?”

Keith thinks on it a moment more. Isn’t exactly sure if his heartbeat picking up like this is a good or bad thing. And yet…

To lie down.

To be truly comfortable.

To have Lance there with him...

He nods...too subtly at first...tries again, bangs messy against Lance’s hoodie. 

He hopes it’s enough.

Apparently, it is. 

“Alright, sounds good,” the little rumble of amusement helps Keith ease back, the hold unwrapping from around him and leaving him vulnerable to the chill seeping through the windows. “I’ll let you lead, then.”

Keith steadies himself, letting go of where he had clung to the back of Lance’s hoodie and then turning to start the trek to the bedroom. 

The floorboards creak, bringing more and more attention to their destination with every step. And it isn’t until Keith’s eyes land on the messily thrown blankets on his bed that it really  _ sinks in.  _

Oh god.

“Nice lights,” he can hear Lance comment from not too far behind him, “Very cool.”

And alright, one point for Pidge. But more importantly: holy shit, is this really about to happen?

They’ve reached the edge of the bed, Keith’s nerves spiking in a rather unpleasant way. A way that’s making it very difficult for his brain to formulate the next step.

Lance, thankfully, has done this before. “‘Kay so, if you just wanna like, get comfy? Like however you like to chill in bed or whatever - and then I can get us goin’ in the best way, okay?”

Several times. Many, many times Lance has done this.

And Keith is floundering just the same. “Uh…okay…”

It’s supremely uncomfortable getting into bed while being watched. Such a normal routine - something he does without thinking every single day - sometimes multiple times a day - and yet…

Keith settles on his side, back turned to Lance’s attention and legs coming up a bit to curl into himself. And alright, he’s decided  _ not  _ seeing him is indescribably worse. 

“Okay so I’m obviously thinking big-spoon,” Lance comments calmly from somewhere behind him, “...yeah? You alright with little?”

Keith’s pulse is thrumming so hard he can hear it in his ears. “That’s-...yeah. ...okay…”

And it’s all he seems to have to say for the go-ahead, because then the mattress is dipping with the weight joining behind him, and Keith’s heartbeat has officially sailed off straight into the stratosphere.

The warmth of Lance’s chest is familiar when it presses up against him from behind, but there’s something about the location change that amps everything up to a raging 10. And then comes the rest - Lance’s stomach, his lap, his thighs - they all slide up nice and securely against him - press up tight and snug and by the time his hand slips over Keith’s waist and comes to settle high on his stomach, it’s very very clear that this is about three thousand times more intimate than Keith was imagining it to be while standing in the living room.

And yet…

“Good?”

The concept of Keith finding a voice and getting anything out right now is laughable. Not with the tension thick throughout his whole body. Not with the death grip he’s got in the blanket in front of himself. Not with the fact that if he let his eyes unsqueeze for one single moment, he’s almost positive they’d be the size of dinner plates.

So, as always, he nods. And hopes it’s enough.

And, as always, it is.

“More or less,” Lance reminds him, “lemme know…”

And Keith appreciates the sentiment, but the hot puffs of breath against his neck are  _ not  _ helping. 

The snowfall has stopped outside for now, leaving not much to distract himself with. And it  _ is  _ stupid, he realizes, that he’s grasping for things to distract himself with in the first place. That he can’t just relax. That the entire point of Lance being here is to ease him into a lull of safety and comfort and relaxation. But Keith is Keith, and Lance is Lance, and the heat between them is traveling from Keith’s face all the way down to his stomach. All the way down to his toes.

“Want me to chill a little?”

Lance’s voice has Keith’s eyes dropping open. Finally. “...huh…?” He hates how unsteady he sounds. Can’t do anything about it.

Lance can hear it 100% because he says, although very kindly, “You’re just... _ shaking _ ...like, really bad. We can go back to the couch if you wan-”

“No.” Keith’s brows have furrowed in a scowl, shoulders coming up as he tucks his head forward on the pillow a touch more. He knows he’s shaking. He fucking  _ knows,  _ alright? “I don’t-... This is-...”  _ don’t say it… _ “...new to me…” 

The tips of his ears are red. He just knows they are. It’s why he’s curling more and more into the pillow.

He hates it but he wants to like it.

Lance’s warmth eases off from behind him just a bit - lap touching but just barely. “It’s alright, man…” he insists lowly, “I don’t want you feelin’ pressured or anything.”

“I don’t.” 

“Okay…” More leaning away. “Okay, but if you do-”

Keith huffs, eyes squeezed shut and pulse racing and  _ why  _ is Lance leaning away - “Don’t-”

“-it doesn’t work if you’re uncom-”

It’s enough to have Keith snap, the need for the retreating heat to come back and the frustration with his own self surging and pushing and the noise from the back of his throat comes out even though he doesn’t want it to - interrupting and practically a whine as he turns before that last sliver of confidence can slip away, his body rolling close and pressing forward against Lance again, face buried in the front of his hoodie like it should be. 

It happens in a split second, and there’s no hiding that it catches Lance off guard, his hand poised in the air above the boy who’s burrowed himself against his front. 

Keith sighs, muscles still tense but the warmth returning. He’s got two handfuls of Lance’s hoodie. Has a leg somehow trapped between Lance’s thighs. Can taste the embarrassment as it rises as quickly as the giddy endorphins into his chest and begin to explode. 

But…

Most of all…

“...this...uh…” Lance’s chest rumbles. “...this better…?”

The frown on Keith’s face has evened out against the soft fabric, but his brows are permanently fixed. “Mm…” he grumbles. 

Because yes. Yes, this  _ is  _ better. It’s still absolutely terrifying - don’t get him wrong - but there’s just something about the switch… It helps him feel...somehow...nice.

“...hey Keith…?”

It takes a lot, but the sincerity clinging to Lance’s words pushes Keith to look up, momentarily untucking himself from the comfort.

And Lance is about to say something - has it on the tip of his tongue - but as soon as Keith looks at him, startlingly close gaze met from under his bangs…

It dies out…

Leaves him silent…

Just staring…

Keith swallows, brows furrowing and eyes hopping between Lance’s as he waits in the dark. What just happened? What’s  _ happening?  _

“...Lance...?”

It has Lance blinking, gaze falling to the side in thought...then to the other...then to the window. It’s like how Hunk does when he gets distracted with something and then has to think back to what he was about to say. Gathering recent memories. 

Except Lance never really ends up saying anything.

And Keith can’t look too much longer, because it’s way too easy to focus back down toward Lance’s mouth again - lips parted in thought. 

So he tucks his head back down into the familiarity of his hoodie.

And they lay there, silent but not uncomfortable as Keith gets his pulse in check.

And Lance never does finish his sentence.

 

\-----------------

 

Falling asleep for good that night is a bizarre mix of relief and disappointment. 

Relief that Lance is gone, and disappointment that Lance is gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**whats the most often someone sees you**

It’s Wednesday afternoon. He’s not even pretending to not be on his phone at work anymore. Especially with how quickly he’s getting responses through the Cuddle Buddy app.

_? what do you mean _

**like how many times a week**

_ oh  _

He realizes it’s a weird question. Also realizes that-

_ technically im not supposed to tell you that _

_ lol  _

Yeah, that’s what he thought. 

Keith lets his phone rest on the counter for a moment as he stares out the shop windows. The cars zip by to their different destinations as he tries to figure out where to go from here. Luckily, he gets some help.

_ why _

Yes. Why would he ask that? Besides the fact that Keith apparently has a penchant for asking Lance random personal questions, of course. Alright, here we go. The whole point of why he started this conversation.  **is twice a week too much**

It’s extremely needy and he feels like an idiot just typing it out. For all he knows, he could already be the most frequent client in Lance’s lineup. Every Tuesday. Every single Tuesday. And now he wants to add more? Talk about clingy.

_ not at all _

_ you wanna bump up? I can offer you a ~frequent flyer discount~ lol _

Keith pauses, scanning over the messages more times than he cares to admit. Oh. It’s... _ not  _ clingy…? Could there really be people who see Lance more than twice a week?

He thumbs in his response, still too flustered for much else.  **yes**

And feels the immediate justification when Lance’s reply comes in right on time. 

_ nice! :D just lemme know n i’ll be there _

 

* * *

 

 

So twice a week turns out to be, more specifically, a Tuesday/Thursday affair. 

It takes a full week and one very special secret from Lance to get Keith to stop feeling weird about the frequency of it. 

The secret is quick, but heartfelt, Lance’s arm flung over him as he tells him about the middle aged woman he sees every single weekday. At first, Keith is confused. But then Lance mentions how she’s very much alone - both her son and her husband passed on after an accident that he doesn’t get too detailed about. It’s been several years, but her heart’s still broken, and she’s still alone, and the empty space in her chest is still aching. 

And that’s why Lance goes over and sees her. Talks to her over lunch. Lays his head in her lap and lets her card her fingers through his hair in the afternoon sun because that’s what she used to do when Jacob was sick. 

She’s the one Lance has been seeing the longest, and he speaks of her with a sort of protective fondness, his face pressed to Keith’s hair in the dark. And he says, once he’s done, “But you’re not supposed to know that.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s two weeks into December. Which means Keith’s one week away from the Christmas Light Festival at the nearby arboretum with Pidge. Which means when he receives a gif of the mayor from The Nightmare Before Christmas saying “terrible news” into a megaphone, he knows there’s a really good chance they have to cancel due to family stuff. Which means he won’t be going to the Christmas Light Festival at the nearby arboretum. Which means he’s a little upset. 

Until.

No, he can’t do that.

That’d be inappropriate.

Unless.

 

\--------------

 

“I have a question.”

They’re back on the couch. Half lying/half sitting. Keith’s got his metaphorical big boy pants on but it’s not easy. Especially with the way Lance’s cologne leaves him just a little bit lightheaded.

“I go to this thing every year with my friend…”

“Oh yeah? What kind of thing?”

“A Christmas lights thing,” he says, distracting himself with tracing the pattern on Lance’s chunky winter sweater. “At the arboretum.”

“Think I heard’a that…” Lance supposes. It leaves too much room for Keith to try to figure how to go about his next sentence. Knowing or not, Lance fills it. “You guys going this year?”

And there we go. Thank you. That’s just the lead-in Keith needs. “We-...were supposed to. And then they had to cancel.”

“Huh…”

“Yeah…” Keith continues to trace - gives a nervous swallow. “Yeah but-... So I have an extra ticket, I guess. If-...” It peters out, but he pushes it through to the end, maybe a little too loudly but as long as he gets it out- “If you wanted to go.”

It’s definitely too loud. Lance’s stroke up and down Keith’s arm has come to a stop midway. Then, like he’s piecing it together: “What...like me and you?”

It’s not judging. Well maybe a little.

Keith has to admit he understands the hesitancy. “If you want. Like if you wanted to go to that just in general.” His tracing has stopped now too. “I dunno if it’d be cool with your girlfriend but if-...” No. Stop. He’s not supposed to be mentioning her. Keith swallows again. Redirect. “Actually never mind. Forget I said anything.”

Stupid.

A stupid plan from the start, really. 

He’s not sure why his confidence decided to suddenly spark for something that was doomed right off the b-

“I mean, I think it’d be a  _ blast.”  _

...Keith hesitates. Isn’t sure he heard right. Did he just… “...you do?”

“Yeah, man.” Lance is picking back up with his trailing fingers, back to normal.

And Keith is...almost entirely sure that he’s still hearing wrong. “And your girlfriend…”

Finishing his thought is apparently unnecessary, because Lance is scoffing, just a little, and then he says, “Why’d she care if I’m hanging out with a fellow dude?”

It’s the kind of question that doesn’t require an answer. The kind of question that answers Keith’s initial question with a sort of unintentional bluntness that puts everything into perspective  _ real  _ quick.

A fellow dude. 

Hanging out.

Right.

“I think it’d be cool as hell, but if you still wanna retract your invitation that’s fine.”

Keith takes a moment to steady himself - get  _ over  _ himself. Then, “I-...I don’t.”

“Don’t what.”

“I don’t retract-... I’m still asking.”

He’s sure his ears are doing that thing where the tips get all red again, but Lance is too quick with his smile.

“Cool. Then I’m still saying hell yeah.”

And it’s enough to get this excited little bundle of nerves right smack in the middle of Keith’s chest.

“Cool…”

 

* * *

 

 

He still can’t believe that worked. Can’t believe he tripped all over himself and still managed to seal the deal. And relatively quickly, too.

He also does a really great job at distracting himself for the rest of the session and Thursday’s session and the rest of the week before he has no more things to distract himself with because it’s Saturday night and he’s two hours away from leaving for the arboretum.

That’s when the nerves start to act up in the worst way.

“You’re not helping!”

He’s currently pacing back and forth in his room, eyes squeezed shut as Shiro’s clothing suggestions all fly by as misses. 

“Okay, just relax.” Speak of the devil. “We’ll find something that fits between hangout-style and date-style.”

“It’s  _ not  _ a  _ date.” _

“No, but you want it to be.”

Keith throws his arms up, wishing for one moment that something would just go right. 

“Okay, here.” 

The shirt Shiro hands him next is a long sleeve - dark blue and a little thick but the v of the neck keeps it casual. 

“Although I still think you’re focusing too much on the top when it’ll be covered the whole time with your coat.”

Keith throws him a look but snatches the shirt from his grasp all the same, pulling the old one off and sliding this one over his binder. “What if we take our coats off. What if we go somewhere after. I’m not gonna sit there in a freakin’ winter jacket sweating my ass off.” He turns in the mirror, unimpressed with the contour he sees there.

“It looks good,” Shiro insists, joining him in the mirror. “You see it because you’re looking for it.”

“Lance could be looking for it.”

“He won’t be. You told me he doesn’t even know.”

Keith frowns, his argument snuffed out by his own self. 

“Keith, I wouldn’t think twice if I was a stranger and you were just walking by.”

It helps, kind of. And Keith’s not sure if it’s because it’s what he wants to believe, or if it’s because Shiro’s never lied to him before about shit like this. But… 

“I guess this shirt’s fine.”

“Great.” His friend’s sigh of relief is subtle but noticeable as he collapses back to sit on the edge of his bed. “Now just pair it with black jeans or something and you’re good.”

“What boots should I wear.”

“I really wouldn’t know.”

“Are the spiky ones too much?”

“The spiky ones are too much, yes.”

This continues on for the next hour and a half until Keith’s finally satisfied and is shooing Shiro out the door just in time.

 

\---------------

 

Parking at the arboretum is horrendous. Just really,  _ really  _ shitty. But Keith drives offensively and narrowly avoids a collision with a van full of children and secures a spot not too far from the entrance.

It’s where he finds Lance, a spitting image of that night at the beer fest. Only this time, Keith’s walking right up to him. 

“Hi,” he starts off with, forcing a small smile to mask the fact that he walked over here way too fast and now he’s out of breath. 

Lance’s smile, however, is 100% real. “Hey.”

And usually they hug when they see each other, but is that just a then-thing? A cuddle buddy thing?

Keith isn’t sure. And while he’d very much love a hug right now, he’d also not like to scare Lance off before they even pass through the gates, so he simply waits, planning to return it if it happens. 

It doesn’t.

They don’t hug.

He does his absolute best to let himself be disappointed.

The massive amount of cars directly correlates with the massive amount of people, so they don’t really get a good chance to stop and think and just exist until they’re through the gates, past the gift shop, and about five minutes into the nature path.

The crowd is still thick, but it’s the first chance to really take in the wonder of the strands of lights that are wrapped around the trees flanking the path - each tree a different color - some blinking, some not - it’s a lot to take in, but indescribably pretty.

“Damn…”

Keith glances from the pulsing purple tree to his left to where Lance is staring up in awe, an impressed grin quirking the corner of his mouth as he takes it all in. 

Another pretty sight. In a different way, of course.

The family behind them is shuffling closer, so they have to keep moving, but it doesn’t mean they have to stop looking. 

The path leads to a longer one - one that circles the frozen lake that’s been rigged with straight lines of light beams. They each ignite and darken in time with themes from The Nutcracker that play over hidden speakers, drawing everyone’s attention as the natural flow of the crowd both quickens with impatience and slows with wonder. 

The shrill flute melody fills Keith’s ears just enough to have him picking up his pace while he watches. And it’s not until the song ends and the path grows considerably darker that he realizes the people around him are an altogether different group than they were walking with before. Which means...

Keith turns, squinting in the dark, but the lull between lights makes it difficult to distinguish faces. And no one’s silhouette is matching the boy he came here with. And-...

Uh oh.

“Lance...?” 

It’s way too quiet because he doesn’t know these people and he feels dumb for getting seperated. But he doesn’t get a response. And he can’t exactly stop moving because there’s no place to stand off to the side. And he’s just about ready to start forming a game plan when he hears quick footsteps in the snow and a quiet “...’scuse me…” behind him and then a hand is landing on his bicep.

Keith turns at the touch, ready to engage in some good ol’ fight-or-flight until he sees the familiar smile standing out in the nighttime air.

“Fuckin’ dark,” Lance chuckles.

And Keith’s too overjoyed with the reunion to care too much about his hand disappearing. “You lost me.”

Another chuckle, their shoulders brushing as Lance falls into step next to him. “We should get those glow in the dark crowns they’re selling for the kids. And the swords.”

“How would the swords help?”

“Hm?” He’s glancing at him, then returning to watch the melting icicle lights now hanging prettily in the tree above them. “Oh it won’t. I just want a glow sword.”

Keith can feel the smile tug at his lips. Even lets it a little. Also decides to take in the icicle lights when Lance is suddenly saying, “Hang on, don’t go anywhere,” and then darting off.

Committed to not getting lost again, Keith follows Lance’s trail towards the stand set up in the little outcropping set up off the path. There’s a menu above the stand that he can’t read, and doesn’t even really get a good chance to try before Lance is returning, two lidded cups in his hands and a smile on his face.

“Here,” he beams, holding one out and taking a drink of his own.

Keith stares down at it, trying to form connections. “...what-”

“Peppermint hot chocolate - with a uh...little  _ extra peppermint  _ if you catch my drift.” He says the last part with wiggly eyebrows, his voice dipping into something knowing. 

And Keith-… Lance just bought him a drink? “Why?”

“Because we gotta!” He says as if it’s absolute fact. And then, more quietly, “And because you won’t let me give you money for the ticket, so I’m at least gonna get you liquored up for free.”

Keith can’t help but hesitate, the generosity registering as something more than just friendly in his brain. But that isn’t what it is. And he should be grateful -  _ is  _ grateful, don’t get him wrong. 

He takes the cup, bringing it to his lips and taking a small sip. 

Definitely hot chocolate.

Definitely peppermint.

Definitely spiked.

“Thanks,” he says, cheeks rosy from the cold and maybe something else. But he’s just gonna blame the cold.

Lance’s smile hasn’t left since he’s returned. “No problem, man.”

They make it very far on the trail before Keith accidentally separates himself again - past the hanging snowflakes and the candy cane trunks and the trees that light up when you hug them. He technically doesn’t even realize he’s strayed too far ahead in the first place until they’re replaying that whole scenario once again - Lance weaving and excusing himself through the sea of people behind him and then joining him with another arm tug.

It’s quick and kind of funny and Keith makes sure to be more spatially aware after that.

By the time they’ve made it all the way to the field glowing with the blanket of lights, Keith is unable to feel his thighs. It’s not like it’s particularly windy, so much as the temperature is just bone-chillingly low, and the thin layer of his jeans isn’t doing too much to cut the bite.

Lance doesn’t seem to be having too much trouble next to him. About the only thing giving it away is the permanent blush that’s bloomed across his cheeks. And even that is almost unnoticeable with the way his eyes are glistening with the pink and purple glow in front of them.

Keith knows he’s staring. Knows it might be obvious even with the way he’s trying very hard not to be. It’s just...kind of a mindfuck. Seeing Lance here. Seeing Lance here because he’s here with  _ him.  _ It’s hard to wrap his brain around. And his body’s already been trying to figure out why it’s seeing him but not touching him. 

Keith does his best to forcefully drag his attention away - pay more attention to the blinking field in front of them. 

They aren’t touching because this isn’t a session. They’re just hanging out. Like friends hang out. And friends don’t do that. Lance doesn’t wanna do that. No matter how very viscerally Keith’s body is insisting on tou-

The woman colliding with Keith’s shoulder catches him off guard, but not nearly as much as how it sends him tumbling into Lance’s side, their coats making an impressively strange swish as they swipe together. It’s like the universe is trying to get things going. And as much as Keith may want the touch-

“Sorry,” he mumbles, pulling away as soon as possible - or trying to, at least - but something’s snagged between their coats, and  _ shit _ he’s too close to see Lance’s face but he’s sure it can’t be good. “Uh-”

Lance makes a little noise like he doesn’t quite know what to say but is going to fix it.

And that’s how they end up standing there, in the cold, the hook of Keith’s button stuck on a thread on the front of Lance’s coat. And every single movement is stilted and awkward, two of their four hands busy with hot chocolate and the other two fumbling in clunky gloves and-

“Hang on.” Keith is committed now - this entire clusterfuck his own fault in the first place. 

He pulls the tip of his glove off with his teeth, holding it in his mouth and brows fixing together as he does his best to untangle himself while quickly combatting the body heat being transferred from Lance as he stands there. 

_ Staring.  _

He can feel it - the eyes on him - the unused hand that ends up settling on Keith’s waist as they stand and wait and  _ ugh.  _ God, Keith really wants to go faceplant in the snow right now. It’d help the heat that’s risen to his face.

He huffs.

“Got it?”

“Almost.”

“Want me to-”

“No.”

Lance continues to be quiet. But doesn’t stop staring.

They’re way too close for Keith to be functioning correctly. 

The unfastening of their fronts comes not a second too soon, the snow crunching under Keith’s boots as he breaks away almost a bit too dramatically.

Lance chuckles and says something but it’s completely lost in the flurry of thoughts tumbling around in Keith’s head as he tries to get his glove back on with one hand.

It finally registers once the task is done.

“Jeez man, someone took the whole ‘stick together’ thing a little too seriously.”

 

\----------

 

They have another hot cocoa...walk through the treetop tunnel, icy chandeliers glowing as they hang on the branches above their heads. Keith’s just getting to the sweet peppermint concentrate lurking at the bottom of his drink when the path winds around to the familiar exit sign.

It’s a bittersweet feeling. Keith really,  _ really  _ wants to go home and thaw his thighs out a little. But there’s also the indescribable want to stay with Lance. And he can’t have it both ways. Can he?

“Where ya parked?”

An antsy mother and her crying child swoop around where the two of them have stopped on one of the medians lining the parking lot. 

Keith drops his cup into the trash can, then turns back to where Lance is waiting patiently. “D3.”

“Oh okay, I’m in B something.”

A frown. “You don’t remember?”

“It’s B  _ something,”  _ he insists. “I’ll get to it eventually.”

It’s a flippant way to live. Keith can’t deny it. But he also can’t deny that people probably don’t write down their parking spot in their phone for fear of never getting home like he does. Another thing he’s having a really tough time denying? Those invisible strings that are trying to pull him closer and closer to Lance. 

God, he’s needy.

“Thanks for the invite, my dude.” Lance is in his own little world, the smile he flashes making those strings tug closer.

Keith needs some sort of metaphorical scissors. “Uh...yeah, no problem. Thanks for actually coming.”

“Of course! Why the hell wouldn’t I?”

Lance laughs. 

More tugging. 

“I dunno, I-... I thought maybe…”

Another group of crying children makes their way around them. 

And  _ fuck  _ does Keith really want to snuggle up to Lance. 

“Hey, you okay?” He asks it sincerely, but with a disarming half grin.

And Keith may not be able to feel his thighs, but he can feel the aching want high up in his chest. “Yeah… I was just-...” Could he ask? What’s the actual possibility? “Do you think-...” 

It’s impossible to get out, especially with the way Lance is now very focused on trying to follow the broken sentences tumbling their way out of Keith’s mouth. 

“...do I what?” 

He’s trying to help. It’s...not working.

Because Keith already feels bad for wanting it. Especially after making Lance take time out of his weekend to hang out with him. That should be enough. Yet and still…

Keith steadies his breath, fingers balled in his gloves. Why is talking so fucking hard?

“Can I-...” Lance is still trying, bless his heart. “Sorry, man. I feel like I’m usually pretty decent at this but you gotta give me more to work with.”

He doesn’t say it with the slightest bit of annoyance. No negativity.

And it’s possibly what gives Keith the final push to get the words out on the end of his breath. “It’s too late.”

“Too late to what?”

“To ask.” A moment drifts by. Like the headlights passing over them. Like the snow that’s starting to fall. Then, “To schedule.”

It takes a minute for the statements to connect. For the question that isn’t a question to dawn on Lance. But when it does… “Oh. What, you were wondering about a session?”

Keith’s gaze is deep in the snow over Lance’s shoulder.

He nods.

“Right now?”

God. 

He nods again.

It’s not gonna happen. He knows this. Is bracing for it. It’s too late in the evening and they  _ just  _ spent a few hours together and Lance is probably sick of him. It’s not gonna happen. 

“How long?”

Keith glances up. “What?”

Lance has got his phone out of his pocket and is checking the time. “How long were you thinkin’? I don’t usually do Saturdays but-”

“Wait, seriously?”

It gets Lance to flick his attention back up, “What.”

And Keith isn’t sure why he’s testing it. Maybe because it sounds too good to be true? “We don’t have to.”

“You want to though, right?”

Wow, is that the understatement of the century. He nods again.

And it’s enough for Lance. “Then let’s do it.”

“But...” Why why why  _ why  _ is he protesting this - he just spent five minutes battling his own self for this very outcome. “You just said you don’t do Saturdays.”

Lance flicks his thumb over his phone screen one more time, then is slipping it back into his pocket, his smile on the way giving that invisible string the heaviest tug Keith’s ever felt. “Yeah well...I’ll make an exception for you.”

It’s like something out of a movie. Having that kind of a smile directed at him. Having that kind of sentiment directed at him. It’s like out of a movie and Keith’s almost positive his chest is going to implode on itself.

He doesn’t even know what to say.

What does one  _ say  _ to that?

“O-...okay…”

Not that.

 

\-------------

 

The drive home is filled to the fucking brim with a hearty mixture of guilt, excitement, and anxiety. Half of those things are nothing new to Keith. But having someone follow behind him so they can go cuddle after looking at Christmas lights together? That’s  _ extremely  _ new.  _ Brand  _ new. Him and Pidge don’t do that shit.

He’s hoping the time it takes them to get into his apartment and through the awkward talking and into bed isn’t as painstaking for Lance as it is for him. Judging by the looseness of his movements - the curve of his grin - he’s going to assume it isn’t.

“Just an hour,” Keith insists, heartbeat racing as he straightens the blankets a little bit and then lies down first. 

“I’ll set an alarm,” is Lance’s response. And it comes off as a joke but Keith can hear him tap against his phone screen and then he’s climbing into bed with him. And he’s pressing against him from behind. And Keith’s eyes flutter shut like he’s just taken a hit of something that has the potential to kill him.

Because it’s somehow even better this way, Lance’s hand sneaking over his waist...resting at his hip...moving forward and lazily making its way up his stomach until it comes to flatten comfortably over Keith’s chest.

The panic moment lasts longer than it should, honestly. But it’s the first time Lance has touched him there. And it’s completely platonic. And Lance doesn’t... _ know…  _ And Keith hopes upon hope that not only is everything doing its job down there, but also that Lance can’t feel the way his pulse has picked up into something that pounds against his ribcage as hard as it pounds against his eardrums.

He doesn't. Lance doesn’t. Or if he does, he at least doesn’t say anything about it. And Keith wonders if this is how it goes for guys. If they just... _ do  _ this…

“M’cold…” Keith mumbles against the pillow.

Enough time has passed that both of their voices have dropped to that quiet, relaxed hum that comes with sleepy blinks. 

“Blankets…” Lance suggests with no intonation.

And yes. Yes, blankets. Because Keith still can’t feel his thighs.

The warmth that drapes over them is dangerously comfortable. Dangerously intimate. Lance pulls it further up until it’s reached their shoulders. Then his hand is back over his chest.

Keith breathes out, nerves tricked into calming with the environment. And his hand may be trembling a little, but he lifts it under the covers to smooth out over Lance’s.

Dangerously comfortable.

Dangerously intimate.

Is this how he sleeps with Jessica…

“What was your favorite thing tonight…?” 

Lance’s question casts warm breath on the back of Keith’s neck.

He brings his legs up a little beneath the blankets. “I dunno… Getting lost, maybe…”

More warm breath - an airy chuckle. 

Keith tries to ignore the way it has the warmth inside him edging downward. “How ‘bout you…”

The length of time it takes to answer, broken up by a thoughtful “Hmm…”, has things slowing down around them. And then, just as quiet as before, but even more sincere: “Honestly, I think just hanging out with you…”

Keith’s eyes ease open, pulse in the forefront of his attention. Lance has to be messing with him. There was so much cool stuff there tonight. “Really…?”

“Mhm… You’re a cool guy, you know?” His hold around him snugs closer. “...being with you is-...”

...Lance’s thought dies out…

...silence follows. 

A lot of it.

Keith counts it passing with every heavy thump of his heartbeat in his ears. Because he knows that trick. The trick of stopping the words before they can get out and shed too much light. He’s very familiar with it. But Lance…?

Keith twists, legs staying bent but his top half rolling over to settle on his back. He moves without thinking. Comes right up to where Lance’s gaze is settling on him a few inches away.

Keith swallows, then painfully quietly… “...being with me...is  _ what…” _

The hand still on his chest is heavy - both grounding and helping him straight into the stratosphere.

Lance blinks, mouth opening, nothing coming out. He’s stuck. Stuck  _ close.  _ Not enough space between them on the pillow. 

And Keith’s heartbeat is pounding. He can feel it in his throat. Feel it in the tips of his fingers. Feel it against Lance’s hand as Lance’s eyes slowly trail down the planes of Keith’s face, lashes fluttering in the dark. 

It lights sparks of anticipation along Keith’s spine, his tongue slowly sweeping across his bottom lip as Lance’s gaze settles there, and then blinks slowly back up to where Keith’s watching with furrowed brows. Waiting. Wondering...if maybe...he isn’t the only one who wants...

The space between them is tight and getting tighter. He doesn’t know who’s moving. Doesn’t know if it’s him or Lance or both of them. All he knows is it’s tight and getting tighter and Lance’s lips are parting - look so fucking soft - so fucking appealing. And his heart’s in his throat and his breath is shaky but he can feel Lance’s steady against his face - against his mouth. And it’s tight and getting tighter… And...

Their lips brush together, feather-light. 

Barely there. 

Not even a kiss. 

But it sparks all the same and after a second of hesitation, they’re back - fuller this time. Like they want to be. 

Keith can’t breathe.

Can’t fucking breathe.

Presses forward a little closer until their mouths are pressing with more intention, but still an unavoidable sense of hesitancy. And he still can’t get any air out of his lungs.

Until.

Lance pulls back - just enough - just enough to let his eyes flick back up to Keith’s like he’s-...like he’s trying to right something in his head. And Keith can feel the heat in his cheeks but he doesn’t have enough time to stammer through something because then Lance is swooping forward again, catching Keith’s lips and kissing him -  _ kissing him - Lance is kissing him. _

_He’s kissing_ _Lance._

The hand on Keith’s chest slides down his stomach, leaving tingling heat in its wake and then grabbing gently at his hip to pull him into facing him all the way. 

It works. Like magic. And lying like this, Keith doesn’t have anywhere to hide the heat that pools lowly as Lance’s hand snakes back up to lay against the side of his neck - pull him a little closer - eyes closed and head tilting to meet him halfway.

Keith’s toes curl. Lance isn’t moving fast by any stretch of the imagination but he still can’t keep up. Doesn’t know what to do with the nerves popping off under his rib cage. Doesn’t know where to put his hands so he just places them palm-down on Lance’s chest. 

And he’s…

Lance is-...

They’re kissing-

_ buzz buzz _

_ buzz buzz _

_ buzz buzz _

Keith startles, the noise throwing everything into confusion and-

The phone.

It’s Lance’s phone.

Lance’s alarm.

The speed with which Lance pulls away is alarming, his brows fixing together as he blinks - blinks again - scans Keith’s face once more. But this time it’s more concerned. More realistic. More like he’s realizing what just-

“Uhhh,” he’s sitting up fast to silence his phone, movements jerky and his attention stuck on it as he brings it over to hold it in his lap.

And Keith-...he’s frozen. Pulse racing. Doesn’t know what to do. Can’t help but watch as Lance licks his bottom lip and brings it in and clears his throat in a move of uneasiness that’s never seen the light of day in their sessions before. 

It’s troubling. 

Sets Keith’s pulse into overtime for a whole other reason. 

Oh no.

What’d he just do?

The room’s natural chill sneaks through to his skin as Lance kicks the blankets away from himself, turning to stand while running a hand through his hair and moving towards the door to the living room.

“I’ll uh-... I’ll catch you later, man. Thanks again for the invite.” It’s not in his usual laidback tone. Although it’s clear he’s trying very  _ very  _ hard.

Keith frowns, heart sinking as he makes his way to the edge of the bed. “I can-”

“No no no, don’t get up.” Lance’s insistence is almost panicky, smile not reaching his eyes. “Stay comfy - I can let myself out.”

Keith doesn’t even get a chance to answer before he’s disappeared into the living room, the floorboards creaking closer and closer to the front door.

He doesn’t get a chance to say  _ anything.  _ Not that he has anything prepared yet in his brain. It’s just-

The sound of the front door squeaking open has him collapsing back onto his pillow, eyes squeezing shut like maybe if he can’t see, none of this will have happened.

Off in his living room, the door slams shut.

And no matter how hard Keith closes his eyes, they still kissed. 

That still happened.

He lets out a weary breath, heart pulling in ten different directions at once.

Oh no.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s 9:30 on Sunday morning and Keith is sitting cross-legged on Shiro’s bed, head in his hands and eyelids drooping tiredly.

“I don’t understand.” Shiro’s still in his pajamas.

Keith is too, actually. He drove all the way here in them. Desperate times call for desperate measures. 

“We went to the tree thing, and it went okay.” He says it directly into his hands. “And then went back to my apartment and cuddled and…” - steadying breath - “...we...we  _ kissed…” _

It’s not the first time he’s said it. On the contrary, it’s around the sixth time he’s uttered those words this morning, but they still tug on the corners of his mouth like it’s the very first. 

He knows he shouldn’t be smiling. Knows the guilt should outway the giddy ball in his chest. It’s just-... He can still feel it...Lance’s lips on his…

Shiro sets his coffee mug back on the nightstand, rubbing at his eye and then continuing his quest for information. “Okay so...how’d it lead up to it, though. There had to have been signs throughout the night.”

Keith takes a break from replaying the kisses in his head to sweep back through as much of the arboretum trip as he can. Things Lance said. Body language. Anything.

“I dunno…” he admits. He’s not good with this shit. Anyway, it’s not like any of this matters. Signs or not, it’s still problematic - what they did. “He’s not supposed to get physical with clients.”

“He’s a professional cuddler.”

“No, like-...physical physical.”

It’s one of the very first things Keith had asked him about, in fact. It’s the biggest rule in the book. 

Shiro considers this, although not long enough. “Even so, from what you’ve said, it sounds like he was just as into it as-”

“He has a girlfriend.” 

That one stops whatever reasoning Shiro’s got up his sleeve. Right in its tracks.

“...oh.”

“Yeah.” 

And hence Keith’s problem. Granted, it was also the second thing he thought of when everything started crashing down and not the first. And Keith’s not sure if that makes him a bad person or not, but he’s definitely sweating it now.

“He isn’t gonna wanna talk to me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I made him cheat on his girlfriend.”

“You didn’t  _ make  _ him do anything.” Shiro takes a second to drink from his mug. It’s no secret he’s made it as bold as it can get - a necessity for when your friend comes barrelling through your door on a Sunday morning. When he’s finished, he keeps the mug in his hand, then says, as if he’s losing the ability to sugarcoat things, “Keith, it sounds like it was a mutual thing. You both made out with each other and it’s neither of your faults individually.”

Keith frowns. Those words.  _ Made out.  _ That’s hardly what it was. There wasn’t even any tongue-

“Keith.”

“What do I do.”

“Talk to him.”

Oh god, that sounds fucking terrifying. “But-”

“You’re not gonna know what’s going on unless you do.”

...that- ...that’d be okay, right? Just living life in wonder instead of having to confront-

_ “Talk  _ to him, Keith.”

Ugh. “Fine.”

With that, Shiro leans back against the headrest and takes a sip of his coffee, then says without opening his eyes, “Now that that’s over, when are we gonna talk about the fact that the guy I told you you liked and you denied is, in fact, the guy you like and had your first kiss with?”

And oh, the blush that rises over Keith’s cheeks has him glaring. “W-...” This asshole. “We’re not!”

“Was it a good first kiss?”

“It wasn’t!”

 

* * *

 

It was.

Keith keeps feeling the ghost of it across his lips and it makes his heart flutter.

 

* * *

 

 

He just has to talk to him. That’s all.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith doesn’t talk to him on Sunday.

Or Monday.

Or Tuesday, even when the time he usually has scheduled comes and goes. 

He doesn’t talk to him on Wednesday.

Or Thursday, until it’s about an hour before his usual time and he’s waist-deep in self conflict. Because he wants Lance over. He wants Lance in his bed. But he wants it all without having to deal with the whole kissing thing and that’s-...fuck, that’s just not the way the world works.

_ Cuddle Buddy - 1 new message! _

Keith’s stomach sinks. He slowly slides his phone closer to himself across the kitchen table so he can read it, with great hesitation.

_ hey. not sure if youre not scheduling bc of saturday but. your slot is still open.   _

Keith reads it over, his bite of sandwich on pause.

Is...is Lance not mad at him?

He guesses technically he could be mad at him but still want the slot filled for money’s sake. 

Does Keith respond?  _ How  _ does Keith respond?

7:00 is an hour away.

He can’t let it go on read. Lance can see he’s seen it. 

Shit.

**idk**

Shit.

**are you mad**

He winces as soon as he sends it. What a stupid thing to say. What is he, five?

_ no im not mad _

_ do you want it or should i make other plans _

Damn it. 

Damn it damn it damn it.

Keith rests the side of his face against his hand. 

Shiro’s right. He’s gotta deal with this at some point. Might as well rip the bandaid off now instead of prolonging it any more than he already has.

**i want it**

Lance’s response doesn’t come in for a good long while, Keith wondering if perhaps he’s waffled too long and missed his chance. He’s finished his sandwich and is dealing with the plate when it finally does buzz against the table.

_ cool on my way _

 

\-----------

 

The time it takes Keith to get changed into something acceptable and worry about finding his hair tie is the time it takes Lance to drive over.

Keith lets him in and when he smiles, it’s not that full-hearted, eye catching smile that Keith is used to. It’s still a smile. Still sweet. But there’s something lurking behind it that makes it impossible to move forward without just cutting to the chase. 

“I get if you’re mad at me.”

They’re only a couple steps into the living room, the dimmer light casting over the fall of Lance’s grin. “It’s-... I’m not mad-”

“Okay but if you are, I get it.” Keith has to insist.  _ Has  _ to. “I’m sorry, I-... I shouldn’t’ve kissed you.”

Now Lance’s eyes are narrowing a little, his face quirking into one of those funny ones that probably isn’t supposed to be endearing but is as he pieces it together. “I-... I mean, it wasn’t just you.”

“But-”

“I definitely kissed you too-”

“Okay, but-” This isn’t one of the fifteen ways Keith imagined this going. “I-... We still shouldn’t have because of your job and everything and-... And I feel bad because Jessica so-”

That last part has something sparking in Lance’s eyes, his brows raising a little and then gaze softening in a way that doesn’t fit the situation. And, “Wait-... Keith, I have to tell you something.”

Oh god, he hates that phrase. Fucking hates it. If they could just maybe avoid whatever’s about to be said that was be  _ so so awesome,  _ “No, just-... I know it was a shitty thing to do-”

“Keith-”

“I mean I spent all that time asking about her and then turned around and kissed you and that’s just-”

“-there’s no Jessica.”

“-seriously a dick move-” 

…

Keith pauses. 

Wait… What did Lance just say?

But Lance is ready, repeating himself just as calmly as he had said it the first time. “Jessica isn’t real. I made her up.”

It does a really great job at both cramming Keith’s words back into his mouth and making his stomach sink all over again.

Because…

...wait… ... _ what? _

“I don’t-...” he’s having trouble. Lance made up his girlfriend? “...why?”

He must look supremely stupid, standing here with the gears turning overtime in his head. 

Lance takes pity on him, as he always does. “Extra precaution, I guess? I tell clients I’m dating someone - they’re even less likely to try shit. ... _ well…”  _ he throws Keith a tiny eyebrow raise, “... _ most  _ clients.”

It’s a direct hit. 

A joke.

Keith’s too busy trying to wrap his mind around this to be offended.

“So…” he’s almost got it all put together. “You-...there’s no Jessica…”

“No.”

“No girlfriend.”

“Nope.”

“You’re single.”

“That’s usually what ‘no girlfriend’ means, yeah,” he chuckles, smile endearing. And then, while reaching out a little. “It looks like this is like... _ really _ blowing your mind and I don’t mean it to be… Are you okay?”

Keith blinks. Lance is single.

“Dude?”

“Yeah.” There  _ is  _ no Jessica.

“You sure?”

Wait- so, “Do you still like girls?”

It’s Lance’s turn to trip up a little, blink surprised. “What?”

“Because like-...” Oh no. Please stop, Keith. Please just stop. 

“Do  _ you  _ like girls?” Lance is teasing him now.

And Keith-...ah… “I-...I like boys.” 

“Nice,” a nice smile - a nice satisfied smile, “I like both.”

_ What is happening. _

Keith covers his eyes with a hand. Pinches the bridge of his nose. How the fuck did they get from there to here?

“Okay I’m gonna go sit. Wanna join me?”

Lance is still smiling when Keith finally finds the will to look. And with as many hoops as his brain is currently jumping through, his muscle memory must decide to take over, because he’s nodding and then seconds later he finds himself snuggled up against Lance on the couch. 

Again, it’s not one of the fifteen ways he thought this night would go.

And he has to say, this shit is just fine.

 

\---------------

 

**he doesnt have a girlfriend**

It’s the very first thing he texts Shiro literally as soon as the front door is closed and Lance is gone.

_ as always, i dont understand _

**he was lying. which means hes single.**

**also hes bi**

_ this is all good news right? _

**i think so**

**yes**

_ youre double-texting so it must be _

**should i tell him**

_ what _

**trans**

_ i think you should do whatever you feel comfortable with. and would also get a lot better advice from pidge. _

**true**

Keith falls back into bed, fingers coming up to dance across his bottom lip. 

It’s been almost a week and he can still feel it.

 

* * *

 

 

He wants to tell him.

Lance.

For a few reasons, actually.

One, it’d be nice to not have to like... _ hide  _ it. Not that he is hiding it, it’s just not information he offers up freely to those who aren’t asking. 

Two, he trusts Lance and although he may not be immediately jumping for joy, there’s a really good possibility that he’s gonna be supportive, or at least not weird about it.

Three, and, inarguably most touchy… Keith… Well, Keith wants to...maybe...one day get-... Well it’s not like all signs are pointing to it and the next time they jump in bed they’re gonna-... 

Okay  _ look.  _ Lance is...insufferably cute. And unselfishly kind. And has arms that can melt you right into the carpet when they wrap around you. It’s probably a common theme for him to have clients who wanna get busy with him. So...it’s not like this is new. But…

He and Lance...if they ever  _ did  _ end up... _ you know... _ and if Lance went down there expecting...well... _ you know…  _

He’s bi. Yes. But. Some things are deal breakers in the real world, Keith has to assume. And going in expecting one thing and getting something else… If not a deal breaker, then definitely a mood killer. Keith has to assume. And he really doesn’t want any of the looks that he’s imagined people would give him in that situation. Not from Lance. Anyone but him. So. 

So…

He wants to tell him. Lance.

He wants to tell him.

He just doesn’t know how.

 

* * *

 

 

On Thursday Lance wears that cream hoodie that’s way too soft for its own good and has already earned its spot as Keith’s favorite. They’re stretched out on the couch, some sort of Chopped rerun flickering in the back when Lance says it.

“Oh not to kill the vibe, but I realized I didn’t actually apologize for Saturday, so...I apologize for Saturday.”

Keith’s face is smashed into his chest, breathing in the cologne lingering there as it registers. Saturday. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I got kinda caught up in some shit and like - I just kinda lost it for a sec, so…” He takes a breath, even and calm, chest rising and falling. “I know you know it can’t happen again. Like I know I don’t have to say it, but… Just gotta cover my own ass, you know?”

Keith finds himself hanging on each word, absorbing it as best he can. “No,” he agrees. “No, I-... Yeah, of course not.”

Of course not.

Of course not.

“I also don’t wanna like-...lead you on.”

Of course...not…?

Keith’s finger stops tracing over the block letters in front of his face. Lead him on? As in… 

Did...that not mean anything to him...? That’s…

That’s not where he thought this was going.

“Um...yeah,” he forces out, “Yeah...me neither…”

The rumble against his ear as Lance clears his throat should snap him out of it. At least a little. 

“Thanks, man. Gotta take my job seriously, you know? Once I lose that credibility…”

Keith nods, unable to do much else. Say much else. 

He gets it. He does. It’s just a little bit more of a wakeup call than he was expecting. 

Lance doesn’t say anything else after that, instead opting to settle down snugger against the arm of the couch. Keith moves with him - lets himself be pulled in. 

He hides his face in the chest of Lance’s hoodie for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith spends two full days convincing himself that yes, obviously this is where things were going to end up with him and Lance. 

Yes, obviously nothing was going to happen. This is Lance’s job. Keith doesn’t know  _ how  _ many fucking times he has to remind himself that.

Yes, obviously they aren’t suddenly head over heels for each other. They just got caught in the moment. Both probably had their good sense frozen over after being outside for so long. 

Yes, obviously they’re not going to kiss again. 

Obviously.

Fucking _obviously,_ Keith - you gigantic dumbass.


	4. Chapter 4

Christmas is a week away. 

Everyone’s out running around doing last minute shopping, and Keith finds himself glued to his phone, watching this Cuddle Buddy message swap play out right before his very eyes.

_ i have a huge favor to ask you :0 _

_ what are you doing wednesday night _

**nothing. unless its a favor i dont wanna do then in that case im busy**

_ lmao! but seriously even if youre 2% interested _

_ my landlord is having this christmas party thing that i have to go to in order to stay in her good favor and none of my fake friends will be my plus one _

And that’s where Keith is right now, snow falling outside the window he’s sat himself near at the cafe down the street from his apartment. 

A plus one. That’s a date thing. That’s a fucking date thing, isn’t it? But then Lance talks about none of his friends willing to be it. So it’s not a date thing, right? Because he was planning on taking a friend either way. So not a date. Right?

_ SOS i dont have a lot of time to rsvp _

A snowplow scrapes its way along the street, drawing Keith’s attention for a second. Then he’s back.

**what do i have to do**

_ just show up _

_ and be in my general vicinity every once in a while _

_ basically just have a good time and pretend like you like me for a couple hours  _

_ then you can fuck off _

A smile tugs at Keith’s lips. As much as he fucking  _ hates  _ the idea of going to a Christmas party full of strangers, he can’t say he wouldn’t enjoy spending time with one stranger in particular.

**ok**

_ ok? _

**i’ll go**

_!!!! _

_ THANK YOU SO MUCH _

_ ALSO WE NEED TO SWAP NUMBERS SOON BECAUSE THEY CAN READ THESE MESSAGES AND IM PRETTY SURE THIS IS A BREACH IN CODE SO DELETE THESE PLS _

Keith laughs, pulling his feet up into the comfy chair as he reads over the huge chunk of letters and then does as requested. 

Deleted. 

But the smile’s still there.

* * *

 

 

So, in retrospect, maybe accepting this invitation so haphazardly wasn’t the best idea. It launches him into a flurry similar to that of the Arboretum Night™, only this time he hasn’t dragged Shiro into the spiral of chaos with him. He’s all on his own. And holy shit, does he  _ not know  _ what people wear to Christmas parties.

He settles for a dark maroon sweater and black jeans. It’s casual but not sloppy. Sorta dressy but not too much. He  _ was  _ going with a black long sleeve for a really long time until he accidentally spilled foundation on it and-...well you know how hard it is to get that out of fabric.

Anyway -  _ anyway - _ Keith gets his shit together well enough to meet Lance at the community center in the middle of a big block of apartments about twenty minutes away. He’s not sure which building is Lance’s, but it hardly matters with how shockingly handsome Lance looks in a button down. It’s literally shocking. Keith can feel it tingle all the way up his spine as soon as they make eye contact across the room and Lance flashes him that ridiculous smile. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” he grins when they finally meet in the middle.

But Keith doesn’t quite hear him because he isn’t expecting the hug he gets pulled in for. He goes for a weary, “Hey,” and hopes for the best. 

It’s good enough.

“So what’s the mood, you want a drink or no?” 

That Keith  _ does  _ hear, finally released and able to function properly again. “Uh…” he glances around - does a quick sweep of the room. 

Among a great many colorful snacks on the three long tables near the fireplace is a large bowl of punch. Several people are walking around with champagne flutes. One person somehow has a beer. (He’s pretty sure she just brought that in from her own fridge.)

When he’s finally taken enough information in, Keith shrugs, “Sure. You?”

“Absolutely, my dude,” Lance laughs, as if the question is entirely preposterous, then he’s motioning for Keith to follow him through the groups of people already clumped together.

The community center is fancy as hell, Keith realizes on their way. Everything is white - the walls - the tile - the couches toward the windows and the decorations donning each high table. He feels absolutely out of place, but doesn’t have enough time to dwell on it because Lance is handing him a glass of punch. 

Even that’s fancy - one of those hard plastic glasses that probably cost the same as glass but won’t shatter once someone* inevitably drops it like an idiot. 

(*Keith.)

“Thanks,” he murmurs, then takes a generous sip. He has to admit, all the white  _ does  _ make the tasteful red Christmas decorations pop pretty nicely.

“Lucky for you I already shmoozed it with the landlord,” Lance hums, nodding in the direction of the smartly dressed woman everyone seems to be crowding near. “So now you just gotta hang around and make me look good.” 

Keith stuffs his free hand in his pocket. Make him look good? “What am I, your arm candy?”

The look Lance throws him is as dramatic as it is funny. “Uh,  _ yeah.  _ You knew what this was.”

“I should be getting paid...”

It gets a laugh out of him, the sound of it cracking open the cage of butterflies Keith’s carefully stuffed inside his chest. “How ‘bout free food?”

“Fine.”

The first offering of punch goes down quick - is swallowed with the very specific task of drowning the butterflies that got free. 

The next one, he takes his time on. 

They’ve made their way from the food table to a couple of women - Lance’s neighbors, he thinks he heard. 

They’re both really cute - brown hair curled softly and the one on the right matching the color of the one on the left. Red dress. Red tie. Keith tries not to make assumptions but.

Everyone laughs - those two and Lance - and it has Keith realizing that he’s zoned out too much to catch the joke on time. 

“And how about you?” The one with glasses says. Fuck, what was her name? Actually what was the question in general?

Lance’s laughter dies down, but Keith catches his murmur as he hides it under a sip of punch, “What’s your job…”

Oh. 

“I uh-...I’m a barista.” So super cool, he knows. Here come the jokes.

“Oh yeah? I used to barista at the Starbucks on 5th,” the one with glasses smiles, “Please tell me you’re not there.”

Oh that’s...not a joke at all. That’s an honest to god follow-up. “No,” Keith stumbles a little. He’s not used to this. “The cafe on Main, actually.”

“Oh, the sci-fi one?”

“No, the one across the street.”

“No shit.”

Keith nods. Lets a smile bubble up a little. Is this happening? Is he really having a normal conversation?

“I bet Lance goes down there all the time,” the one in the dress supposes, shooting him a raised eyebrow. “Boy certainly knows his way around a cup of coffee.”

Keith’s smile falls a little. Lance? Why would Lance come to his work? “Uh...no-”

“I didn’t know you worked at a coffee shop, dude,” Lance has turned to him now, his genuine interest driving it forward. “That’s really cool.”

Keith answers with a little nod, but follows Lance’s lead when his attention is dragged back to the couple in front of them. They’re looking at each other. Confused. Communicating without words. And then, one shaking their head with a little chuckle:

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

“Wow we-...” the other one’s smile is sheepish, “We really thought you two were together. Our fault.”

Together.

Keith blinks. To-  _ oh.  _

_ Together. _

He glances over to Lance, who has glanced down at him as well. Equally awkward eye contact. 

Oh boy.

“We’re just friends,” Keith offers first. Mystifyingly. The stars must be aligned or something. 

Lance is quick to follow, “Yeah we uh...met at-…uh...” 

Oh no.

Oh boy.

Keith spares him a quick glance out of the corner of his eye. Goes for it. “The gym. We met at the gym.”

Two for two.

Holy shit, is this really happening right now?

“Yeah, the gym,” Lance smiles. Keith wonders if the girls can tell it’s fake. “Great gym buddy, you know.”

It kills it. In a bad way. All the quick thinking Keith had managed to pull out of his ass. 

Graciously, the one with glasses smiles and changes the subject. “Cool so...have you guys tried that  quinoa stuff?”

It earns a scoff and a smack to the shoulder from her girlfriend. “You mean that quinoa stuff  _ we  _ brought? It’s fine - stop fishing for compliments.”

Keith’s grin is stiff as he downs the rest of his punch.

Onto glass number three, then.

It’s glass five that has Keith starting to feel it - the heat from the candle that probably shouldn’t be lit with so much flammable stuff going on around it. Or maybe it’s just the punch.

“The gym…” Lance hums to himself, smile curling his lips as he speaks into his glass. 

Keith can’t help but notice. “Something funny?”

“The thought of me at a gym.”

It’s the opposite direction he was gearing for and it keeps him pleasantly on his toes. “What…” he slouches against the tall, petite table they’re standing at alone, boots crossed below it. “You definitely go to the gym.”

Lance huffs a chuckle. “Definitely  _ don’t.” _

“You have to - look at y-” Keith clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, setting down what actually could possibly be his  _ sixth  _ punch now that he thinks about it. “Feel that,” he insists, poking one single pointer finger into Lance’s arm with a scowl.

Lance directs his goofy smile upward. “Feel my own bicep?”

“Yes.”

“I’d really rather not.”

“Fine, then-” his palm is fit over Lance’s muscle before he can stop himself, fueled by whatever’s in that punch bowl. “Flex.”

“Are you-”

_ “Flex.” _

Lance stares at him, eyelids heavy, but then he sets his glass down once again and then adjusts himself so he can do just that.

Keith cups his hand - feels the hard muscle under thin black fabric. Bull _ shit  _ Lance doesn’t go to the gym. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

At that, Lance relaxes. Although the quirk of his smile lingers as he keeps up his attention. 

Keith draws his hand back - realizes a touch too late what he’s done - is feeling way too good to worry about it now. Holy crap, did he just flirt without tripping all over himself? “What,” he articulates, sure to clip it tight.

It does nothing but deepen Lance’s smirk. “You’re sassy when you drink.”

Keith doesn’t think he’s supposed to be taking it as an insult, but there’s something about the tease. It eggs him on in the best way. “That’s a  _ terrible  _ word for it.”

“Mouthy?”

“No.”

“Cocky?”

He fixes him with a look, cheeks flushed but gaze pointed. “I am  _ not  _ cocky.”

“You just made me flex for you.”

“I was proving a point.”

“Yeah? What was it?”

Lance’s smirk has grown into something dangerous. Something Keith would only need one or two more punches to kiss right off of him. If they did that kind of thing. Probably just one. He’s definitely feeling it.

His point. What was his point? “You have nice muscles,” he finally answers. Even though he’s sure that wasn’t it.

Lance, it seems, isn’t giving him this one. “Well  _ thank  _ you. But your point was I go to the gym. Which I don’t.”

It’s a silly back and forth. Undeniably flirting just to flirt. Keith eats it up as quickly as it’s being dished out. “You do.”

“I don’t.”

“I’ve felt your abs - you definitely work out.”

“Oh, we’re moving lower now?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re tellin’ me you’re not mouthy…”

The older couple clearing their throats at the table next to them has Keith’s next comment dying in his throat. 

Perhaps-...yeah. This probably isn’t the best place to be discovering his flirty drunk side. Not with so many people who probably know Lance and are in everyday contact with him. 

He technically isn’t even supposed to be flirting after that conversation about last Saturday. But  _ Lance  _ is. So… 

“Think things are winding down,” he hears Lance say next to him. “We really didn’t plan this right.”

“No…” Wow, “driving’s not uh...a  _ thing  _ right now...for me...”

They really  _ really  _ didn’t plan it right.

“I can get you a Lyft,” Lance says, pushing his punch glass closer to the candle, “Or you could like-...we could chill til you sober up.”

Around them, people are starting to throw plates away and end conversations. High heels echo off the spotless tile. Lipstick threatens to stain cheeks with its kiss goodbye.

It has a certain sense of urgency that sets Keith a bit on edge. “Lyfts freak me out…”

Lance laughs. “Okay so then chill? My apartments right there.” He points a swaying finger out the nearby window to the building just across the way. Thirty second walk max. “Unless that’s weird. That might be weird.”

“I uh...I don’t think it’s weird.”

Okay so Keith thinks it’s a  _ little  _ weird. But only because he’s getting whiplash with this whole platonic/flirty/platonic/flirty thing happening in the past few days. But, it’s definitely the best option out of the three - drive drunk and die, ride in a Lyft and die, or relax in the safety of Lance’s apartment alive and well?

There’s not a whole lot of thinking involved here.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he confirms again. And it takes a lot of self control because the nerves are starting to bubble up, but he leaves the rest of his punch on the table and then follows Lance through the many goodbyes to reach the doors outside.

It’s unforgivably cold. The wind disregards their lack of coats completely and hits them without mercy. It’s pretty terrible.

“Holy fuck,” Lance giggles, scrunching his shoulders up against the chill as Keith wraps his arms around himself.

Holy fuck is right.

But Lance looks really cute and his building is right there so they pick up their pace, practically running across the pavement, their laughter nearly drowned out by the crunch of the snow beneath their boots.

It’s a nice, momentary relief from his climbing nerves. And that’s all it is. Momentary. Because the very  _ second  _ Keith steps into Lance’s apartment, it’s like a headrush - a huge punch to the face - because it’s dawning on him where he fucking is.

“Sorry, it’s kinda sloppy in here,” Lance says somewhere over by the couch. He’s scooping something from the end table that Keith can’t see. “Didn’t think I was gonna have anyone over tonight.”

It doesn’t matter that Keith can’t see it, because his brain is currently trying to process about forty things at once. 

The heat pumping out of the vent above him.

The very prevalent smell of Lance’s cologne.

The continuation of  _ white white white  _ except for key accent items that keep leading his eyes around the room. The couch pillows. The abstract blues hanging on the wall. The matching mugs hanging neatly under the cupboards in the kitchen.

This is…like an actual…

“What’s up - you okay?”

He’s asking it from where he’s tucking a book back onto the shelf near the window. 

And Keith… Wow. “You like...have your shit together…”

Not exactly the most eloquent way of saying it, but… Jesus, this is so nice. So organized. Lance is like a real life adult or something. 

It’s...holy shit it’s kind of intimidating.

“You’re hilarious.” Lance is laughing. A real one. It rings through the space with little effort because it’s not getting stuck on random shit like it would in Keith’s own apartment. “Glad that’s the vibe I’m giving off, man. Really makes me feel better about how everything else is a freakin’ trainwreck.”

Keith doesn’t get it. At all. Doesn’t have enough backstory. Is still distracted by those pops of color that he keeps finding more and more of-

“So are you gonna like, come  _ in _ or are ya plannin’ on sobering up in the doorway?” Lance is fluffing a pillow now, but mostly he’s just pulling off this goofy little smile that has Keith’s brain realigning. “Just so I know. Like I don’t care either way, I just wanna know where to expect you.”

It’s a joke. A tease.

Keith glances down at where his snowy boots haven’t even left the doormat. 

Oh. 

He moves into action, skipping the absolute hassle of unlacing the fronts to save for time. And to save face. Which doesn’t really work because these boots are almost impossible to get off without untying anyway, and that’s not considering how much Christmas punch is swimming around in Keith’s brain fucking with his sense of balance. 

But he does his best, crouched and pulling and twisting, and he’s just gotta give one more good  _ tug  _ but  _ whoops  _ there goes the ground out from under him. But it’s not the floor he finds himself on.

“Saw it comin’,” he hears Lance murmur above him, the hands holding him up by the arms not only kind, but more importantly keeping Keith from joining the rest of the melted snow on the floor. “Had a major That’s So Raven moment.”

Keith’s grin is unavoidable, no matter how stupid he feels. “I hate these boots.”

“May I suggest untying them?”

“No.”

“Of course not. Stupid thought.”

With the now added support, the first one slips off much easier. And the second - well it only takes a few moments of wiggling - one hand pulling, the other hand hanging onto Lance - for it to pop right off as well.

Keith lets out a satisfied sigh, then straightens to normal height - a height that he doesn’t really consider to be dangerous until it brings him right up close to Lance’s face.

He smiles. Keith. It’s a really nice face.

“Thanks,” he hums, noting how Lance’s hands haven’t left the back of his sweater. Noting how Lance’s eyes do that thing again where they trail down Keith’s face and then flick back up again like he knows better.

It’s got Keith’s fingertips tingly. Definitely dangerous.

“...uh-”

“Water,” Lance suddenly announces, possibly to the both of them, possibly to himself. It’s paired with his hands dropping away and a very generous step in the opposite direction toward the kitchen. “Water for the weary…”

He disappears around the corner just like that, leaving Keith to let out his breath and try to get himself to form a game plan - just for the next few minutes. He’s seriously having trouble following normal social cues right now.

He looks around the living room. 

Couch. 

He should sit on that couch. 

The walk over shouldn’t feel as awkward as it does. Especially with how he doesnt have any attention on him. It’s just...moving through this unfamiliar space...which doesn’t belong to one of his two Closest People...it’s weird. No matter how buzzed he is.

“Okay, Operation Sober starts now,” Lance announces right as Keith’s found the audacity to sit down. The ice in the two glasses of water clink as he rounds the corner and then hands one of them over.

Keith takes it, with both hands for some reason instead of just one.

Whatever.

“Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

Lance sits.

Gentle sip.

There’s a clock ticking somewhere. 

Keith can hear it. 

“That quinoa stuff was good.”

Lance nods. “Yeah, for real.”

Silence.

Another sip.

Ice clink.

“I like your sweater.”

“Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

Swallow.

Clock tick.

Tick. 

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

“Okay why is this so awkward?” The couch groans as Lance turns to him, their knees bumping from the sudden movement.

Keith lets out a breath. Thank god he’s not the only one. “I don’t know.”

“Is it because we’re buzzed?”

“No? I don’t-...I don’t think so?”

“What the fuck is it then? We spend hours together all the t-...”

The metaphorical light bulb illuminating over Lance’s head is troublesome. He sure does figure stuff out quickly.

“...what?” Keith dares.

And the answer is so obvious that it almost sounds stupid coming out of Lance’s mouth. “It’s ‘cuz we’re not cuddling.”

Yes. Of fucking course. Was it not Keith who, just a couple of weeks ago, was angsting about not being able to touch Lance at the arboretum? Fucking  _ duh,  _ Keith.

But. “We’re not-... This isn’t a session.”

It takes a second, but then Lance is agreeing. “No it’s not.”

“So we shouldn’t be.”

“No we shouldn’t.”

“Because like...conflict of interests, or whatever…”

“Right.” Lance is nodding - coming back down off the high - convincing himself. “Right…” He consults his water glass with one more nod. “...right…”

Silence.

Ticking clock.

Over and over and over again.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

“...I mean I could just put my arm around y-”

“Okay.”

Lance doesn’t even have to finish for Keith to be entirely on board, both of them setting their glass down in unison and immediately repositioning on the couch.

It’s another headrush but in a nice way, Keith slotting up against Lance’s side and Lance’s arm coming down over his shoulders. Not the comfiest position, but definitely good enough. Definitely cozy. Definitely close enough to really get wrapped up in the smell of his cologne all over again. 

A headrush on top of a headrush.

He’s never gonna sober up at this rate.

“This is okay, right?” Lance asks it like it’s more of an internal dilemma, but Keith doesn’t catch on until he’s already answered.

“Right.” Then, in the spirit of not being able to shut his fucking mouth: “You’re my favorite smell…”

It does a really great job at directing all the attention away from whatever weirdness Lance is feeling and dumping it right back onto Keith. “I’m what…?”

The chuckle is more of a snort.

And Keith wants to die. 

“Nothing.” Well, he should explain- “Your cologne. Not  _ you  _ you.” Swing and a miss.

But Lance’s shoulders are shaking with the way he’s trying to hold in his laughter - most likely doing his best not to drive Keith’s embarrassment any higher than it already is. “Thanks, man. Very nice of you to say.”

It’s a valiant try but Keith’s already done for - just huffs and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and bury his head in his hands because he can’t do much else.

He wishes he could blame the punch.

But he’s pretty sure that was all 100% Socially Inept Keith.

“Ahh c’mon bud, it’s fine,” Lance plays it up, grin in his tone and getting more noticeable with every second he’s ignored. “Keith. Keeeeith.”

The arms wrap around him again, only this time, it’s with momentum. This time, it’s capturing Keith fully, bringing him off balance and down to the side in desperation. Keith doesn’t even have a chance to flail before they’re landing, Lance on his back, Keith half on and half off, hands clinging to his shirt as best he can.

It’s a sudden change, and it has the air knocking from Keith’s lungs as everything sinks in. Because he’s not the only one who’s quickly discovering that this wasn’t their best move. Not by a long shot.

Below him, Lance’s playful grin is slowly fading with every passing moment - every tick coming from wherever that fucking clock is as he says, almost a whisper, “...oh…”

It’s a flashback. To that night in Keith’s bed. Where everything just kind of slowed and reality sunk in.

Keith swallows, lips parting. He should move, but Lance is so unforgivably gorgeous beneath him - his bangs swept from his forehead - eyes pretty as they blink up at him in the dim light - chest rising and falling from the effort it took to get them into this position in the first place. He’s a picture of impossible temptation. Everything Keith wants. Everything he wants but knows he shouldn’t have. Unless...

The hand running along his neck and pulling him down is almost unnecessary - Keith’s body moving on autopilot with or without it and pressing tightly even if his heart’s in his throat because wow - wow Lance’s lips are brushing against his again - moving - leading them into open mouthed kisses that Keith uses to get air into his lungs between.

It’s not like the first time in the slightest. There’s no hesitation anymore. Only a hand, sure on the back of Keith’s neck. And the brush of their clothes from the natural movement of trying to get  _ closer. _ And the sweep of Lance’s tongue slipping confidently into his mouth.

It sends shockwaves down Keith’s spine - the feeling of it - the unfamiliar drag. He’s laughably lacking in experience but he’s got just enough punch in him to just go for it - to move his tongue the way Lance is and hope it’s good enough. 

It is - it must be - because Lance’s other hand is coming up to frame the other side of Keith’s neck, the kiss deepening into something that Keith has trouble keeping up with. But god, does it feel good - sends tingles to his belly.

A tiny groan escapes the back of Lance’s throat, and then his hands are dropping to Keith’s back - his middle - his waist as he holds on and then turns -  _ again  _ \- just fucking sweeps Keith off balance for a second time and brings him around and then he’s-...he’s on top of him. Lance is on top of him. 

Keith lungs are fighting the good fight, working overtime as he stares up at how fucking hot Lance looks crowding above him until he can’t see anymore, because their mouths are slotting together like they never stopped. And jesus- jesus he needs to fucking breathe-

Keith breaks away, his head turning to the side and toes curling as Lance’s mouth drops to his neck. More open mouthed kisses. Hotter this time. They have that swirling heat in Keith’s gut immediately pooling downward between his legs, alarmingly fast and frighteningly real. 

Keith grabs at Lance’s forearms, where his sleeves have been rolled up the whole night and Keith’s wanted to just  _ touch.  _ His skin is warm. Like his breath. Like his tongue. And they-... They need to stop.

They need to  _ stop. _

“H-...Lance…” he barely gets it out, lashes fluttering at the feeling of that mouth kissing up his throat and then capturing his lips again.

It’s so easy to get swept up in. 

To lose himself completely. 

But he can’t. They can’t. They need to stop. For the sake of Lance’s job and Keith’s sanity and beyond all that Keith still hasn’t even told Lance yet and his body may be ready but what if-

“Lance…” This one’s more put together - has Lance timing out to reach down and get a hand under Keith’s thigh.

“Mm…?”

Keith doesn’t have a plan for what to say next, and even if he did, it’d die before execution with the way Lance uses his hold to bring Keith’s leg up, holding it to his own hip and then grinding their laps together so nicely that the heat between Keith’s legs makes things  _ very  _ real  _ very  _ fast and-

“Stop- we have to stop!”

He shouts it, surprised by the loudness of it just as much as the boy above him.

Lance freezes, lips still close - still parted - still slick as the labor for breath rings out in the silence between them and-...

And…

Keith swallows. Fingers trembling against Lance’s chest. “...we need to stop…”

The air in the living room is thick. Heated. Warm but not as warm as Lance as he blinks - pulls away just enough for his eyes to meet Keith’s - then far far  _ far  _ away. Like on the other side of the couch, away.

“Fuck,” he breathes, chest heaving. “Sorry, I-... God, I did it again...”

Keith’s pulse is racing just like the first time.  _ Worse  _ than the first time. He just needs to lay here for a second and-

“I dunno why I keep- ...I mean I know  _ why _ I keep doing it - you’re fucking cute-”

“You’re not helping,” Keith states briskly, eyes closing. Because even if he was the one with the good sense to stop them, that doesn’t mean he isn’t still unmentionably turned on. And Lance is rambling.

And  _ god, _ Lance is so-

“I don’t do this with any other clients,” he assures, hand running through his hair as he convinces whoever will listen. “I don’t, I-...you’re the only one I-”

_ “Not...helping.”  _

Keith snaps it. Has to sit up. Needs to do something before these nerves have him vibrating out of his fucking skull. 

And he’s…

He’s wet.

Lance made him fucking wet with a little making out and one single grind. 

How is this possible.

And wait-...more importantly…

Keith stands, fueled with just enough adrenaline that he’s gotta get it out now if he’s gonna get it out at all. “Do you like me or not?”

It pins Lance to the couch without warning. And his risen eyebrows are enough of an indicator that he’s struggling. “What-”

“Do you like me.” Keith doesn’t even give him a chance - just keeps hammering away. “Do you wanna sleep with me or don’t you.”

He hasn’t felt a rush of self confidence like this in a  _ long  _ time. And it may be a number of things. Could be the punch. Could be the adrenaline. Could be the fact that he’s sick of having his understanding of their relationship parameters flip flop daily. It doesn’t matter. Because it comes out all the same.

And Lance is just as uneasy. “I…” he stammers from where he’s settled at the edge of the couch. “I wanna...keep you as a client-”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I can’t-”

“Do you  _ wanna  _ sleep with me or don’t you.” Because there’s more hinging on this than Lance realizes. More than he  _ knows.  _ And if he doesn’t actually want to get there then Keith’s less likely to tell him about-

“I do.”

Keith steadies himself. Keeps his frown directed at him. Waits as Lance swallows and then:

“I do… I do, I just...also...wanna keep our thing going.”

The honesty pushing his words forward is almost too much to take. Is almost enough to convince Keith right there. But: “Then why’d you say you didn’t wanna lead me on?”

Lance’s brows furrow. “What? When?”

“After we kissed.”

A moment of recollection, then: “There’s-...I was trying to just-...you know.”

Keith huffs. “I don’t, that’s why I’m asking.” His confidence is slipping. He’s already burned through the majority of it. But he’s still needing answers. “I don’t fucking _ get _ it…”

Lance sighs...must be tuning into the fact that Keith’s running short. “Can you sit down?”

“No.”

“Please? You’re-...you’re making me nervous standing over me like this.”

Keith blinks. Considers. He hadn’t thought about it like that - has  _ never  _ pictured himself in the position he’s in now. 

He sits, but with a huff. And he doesn’t let up on his frown, either.

But Lance seems much more comfortable, because it’s easier for him to continue, even if it’s coming out slowly. “I said I didn’t wanna lead you on because I thought I had my shit together. I thought maybe...like, kissing you was an accident but I thought I got it outta my system. So I didn’t think it’d be a problem again, but…”

He doesn’t need to say any more. The rest is very obvious. The entire night. The flirting. ...as far as they just got.

Keith’s gaze drops to the carpet. He supposes it makes sense. How many times has he thought he’s had something handled and then went and fucked it up not 24 hours later.

There’s still the question, though. “You can’t have both.” That’s what Lance has said, anyway. “So what would you rather have?”

Lance frowns. “You mean…”

“Do you want me as a hookup, or a client?”

It’s an absolutely bizarre question, and it...it kind of hurts just saying it - reducing himself to the two. But Keith needs to know. And Lance needs to know too. They both need to be on the same page, and if that means losing the satisfaction of their cuddle sessions-

Lance pulls him in without a word, both arms secure and certain around Keith’s shoulders. 

And Keith…the surprisingly little flutter of his heart...

“...you’re sure…?”

His answer comes in the form of bringing them both back, straight into their favorite couch position with a hum. 

It does wonders at calming Keith down - calming them  _ both _ down, actually. And… 

Lance wants to keep it up. The bond they’ve made over these couple months now. 

The shy grin tempting to spread is serious, but Keith stows it away for the time being, instead using the energy to snuggle in for full effect. “Okay,” he mumbles against Lance’s chest. “Now stop kissing me.”

Lance doesn’t try to hide his grin. “Stop kissing  _ me.” _

“You started it this time.”

“Um, no it was definitely you.”

A pause. This emotional whiplash is going to kill Keith. 

Then: “This shirt isn’t comfortable.”

“Sorry, should I change?”

“Yeah, where’s your cream one…”

 

\------------------

 

They fall asleep too soon for two people who were just getting hot and heavy on the other side of the couch.

It’s three in the morning by the time Keith finally does get home.

 

* * *

 

So. One might think the events that played out on Wednesday night would be enough to launch Keith into a panic. And normally, one would be right. BUT.

Here’s the thing. He has closure now. There’s closure. Yes, they both wanna bang each other, but  _ look,  _ it’s not gonna happen. Because the line has been drawn. Very clearly. And that means Keith doesn’t have to worry about trying to read social cues or figure out if Lance is attracted to him or not anymore. Because guess what? All that bullshit is done with. It’s over. There’s just the two of them, with their very obvious terms, and Keith doesn’t have to worry about anything anymore. All he has to do is cuddle up in the winter nights with Lance. And  _ that  _ he can do with his eyes shut.

Most nights, he does.

 

* * *

 

So Christmas happens.

Keith’s never been huge into it but Pidge reaches maximum power during the 48 hours of the 24th through the 25th. 

He gets many snaps from them. Pictures of food. Videos of holiday-related pranks played on Matt. This one series of blurry photos that Keith isn’t completely sure about but thinks is from a drive to see Christmas lights.

All in all, it’s a nice holiday. And Keith really enjoys the fact that he’s got two days off of work because they scheduled only the “most responsible” staff members for the rush. Allura’s probably one of them, but there’s nothing he can do. Except appreciate the time off. And that’s exactly what he does.

 

* * *

 

 

_ Cuddle Buddy - 1 new message! _

_ hey dude i have waaaay too many leftovers. weird if i pawn some off on you?  _

**yes but ive been taught to never turn down food**

_ nice nice i’ll bring it over tonight _

 

* * *

 

 

The leftovers in question include, but are not limited to: sliced ham, potatoes - one baked and the rest mashed, a small tupperware of cinnamon apples, and more cookies than Keith could ever possibly eat himself.

He stores the perishables in the fridge and leaves the rest out, and then it’s time to cuddle.

A Christmas rerun of Friends that’s still playing even though the holiday has technically passed - that’s what’s flickering on the TV as Lance runs the backs of his knuckles down the side of Keith’s arm. 

It’s very relaxing. Truly. It’s just…

Keith repositions, adjusting his shoulders and leaning forward a little to flex out his back.

It stirs Lance to comment. “You okay?”

“Yeah?”

“Cool you’re just-...it’s like the fifth time you’ve done that.”

Keith considers it. Didn’t realize he’s done it so much. It’s when the idea pops into his head - like the right bulb finally connecting and lighting up the entire Christmas tree. 

Should he?

He could...

“Yeah…” he sits forward, stretching out his back again to relieve some of the pain, but also to give himself some time… Because he could just get it out of the way right now… “Yeah. My uh-...my back just hurts from uh-...” a pause, then, “...from wearing my binder so much lately.”

He sends it off into the atmosphere.

Keeps his attention forward. 

Doesn’t have to wait long at all until Lance is laughing, “Your bind-...” and then cutting off...making connections...probably replacing the meaning that he’s used to for that word in order to fit Keith’s meaning. Another beat of silence goes by, Keith too afraid to look, and then he says, “I mean...I don’t know too much about that but...would it help if you took it off? Or is that not how it works.”

Keith sits. 

Stunned. 

Is...is that really it?

Is he seriously accepting this just like that?

“Uh…” it’s hard to find his voice. “Yeah it-...it helps a lot.”

“Okay.” A little more silence. Not awkward. Just necessary to piece thoughts together. “Gonna...go take it off then?”

Keith finds the courage to glance back at him, “You don’t mind?”

And oh, the look of honesty flashing across Lance’s face as he says it, although a little slowly - “No, dude. You do you.” - it has Keith’s chest soaring. 

“Okay.” He stands, feet taking him in the wrong direction for a few steps, then righting themselves toward the bedroom. “Be right back.”

“I’ll be here.”

As soon as his bedroom door is shut, Keith lets an enormous breath out through pursed lips. 

Holy shit.

Holy shit, that didn’t go badly at all.

He pulls his sweater over his head, hair messy when it drops to the floor near his feet, and he’s just got the fabric of his binder under his fingertips when he stops. Takes a moment. Has that little voice in the back of his head start in where there’s no need. Because there  _ is  _ no need, right? Lance just reacted in the coolest way. It’s okay. He accepts it. 

But what if he accepts it in theory, but then changes his mind when he actually sees? 

He wouldn’t.

But what if he does? What if he finds it too weird and decides to close off scheduling for him.

Keith huffs - squares his shoulders -  _ Lance isn’t like that  _ \- and pulls the tight material over his head. 

Lance is still sitting on the couch when Keith steps back out, his sweater back over his chest. The TV’s still flickering, but Lance isn’t watching. On the contrary, he’s got his brows fixed, eyes trained to the coffee table in thought. 

Keith does his best to move quickly, eliminating extra time to make things awkward and sitting back on the couch with him. He knows he shouldn’t have his arms crossed over himself - knows it’s drawing attention to it - but-

“Hey so, if I ever did anything…” Lance is still talking to the table, but he’s stringing the words along as they form in his head. “Or like... _ touched  _ you anywhere…” It’s obviously what he’s been thinking about since Keith left. “If I ever did anything that made you feel weird, I’m really sorry. I swear to god I wasn’t trying to.”

He looks up at him for that last one, the seriousness in his tone matching the expression on his face. He means it.  _ Really  _ fucking means it. 

And Keith…

“You didn’t.” There was that one time before they kissed but- “You didn’t. You’re okay.” He can’t believe he’s having this conversation. Can’t believe it’s with  _ Lance.  _ “Thanks, though.”

“Yeah, of course.”

The next few moments are drawn out, but not because it’s awkward. Not at all. It’s more because Lance is so fucking deep in thought.

“Okay but if I ever do-”

“Lance,” Keith’s dry with it now, although the shy little grin is still there. “You’re the nicest person I know. Everything is fine.”

It seems to be what he needs to hear to move on. And isn’t that so like him - more worried that he’s done something to make Keith uncomfortable than the very fact that Keith is coming out to him out of the blue.

He’s not sure why he didn’t see this coming. The outcome is so clear now. Maybe he was too bogged down with the anxiety that comes with the concept of telling someone new. Someone close. Someone he cares about. 

Keith brings his arms closer into himself, but leans his head back down onto Lance’s shoulder. 

It’s still going to take a little bit of getting used to - personally - but the thick of it is finally done with.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, bright and early:

_ Cuddle Buddy - 1 new message! _

_ hey man hope you have a good day. dont kill anyone over a latte or anything. _

It’s unexpected and it makes Keith’s tummy go all topsy turvy like it did when he first started getting messages from him.

He grins, thumbs typing fast.

**no promises**

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

So here’s the thing…

Keith isn’t really a dirty dream kinda guy.

He’s not sure the reason, but he can count the number of dirty dreams he’s had in his entire lifetime on one hand. It just isn’t really a thing for him.

Until he makes out with Lance.

Then he runs out of fingers. (No innuendo intended.)

 

* * *

 

 

New Years Eve is fast approaching.

Five days away, in fact.

It’s just enough time for Lance to invite him to the party he’s hosting, and for Keith to turn him down.

“I usually do something with my friends,” he says, rolling the string of Lance’s hoodie between his thumb and pointer.

They’re on the couch.

Haven’t stepped foot in the bedroom since the incident.

Have avoided Keith’s bed like the fucking plague.

Anyway:

“Oh, okay,” says Lance, but the disappointment is hard to mask.

And Keith feels like he needs to pick things back up. “You don’t want me there anyway.”

“Yeah I do.”

“I’ll kill your game.”

Lance snorts, his chest rumbling. _“What_ game…”

“Everyone like...hooks up on New Years, right?” Isn’t that a thing? Keith could’ve sworn that was a thing. Where did he hear that, come to think of it…

“Yeah you’re right. My apartment’s just one huge orgy at midnight.”

He says it so dryly that Keith almost has to second guess. Almost. If he weren’t used to Lance’s humor by now. It’s easier and easier to match at every opportunity. “My point.”

Lance crosses his legs on the coffee table, blunt nails trailing down Keith’s arm as he feigns offense. “So what you’re telling me is...you _don’t_ wanna be part of my orgy.”

The corner of Keith’s mouth quirks, insides stirring even though it’s just a joke. “Not my thing.”

“Got it. Having sex isn’t your thing - check-”

“That’s not what I said-”

“So you’re really gonna pass up the opportunity to start 2018 free from virgin status...”

“I-...” That’s enough to have the heat rise to Keith’s face, Lance’s hoodie string stalling in his fingers. Come on, he was doing so good. “I’m not a virgin!”

“You’re not?”

“I’ve definitely had sex before.” The tips of his ears are red. He knows it. Knows Lance can see it. Knows Lance is _egging him on_ with every single word. But he’s being propelled forward by the need to cover himself, even if it’s not running through his brain-to-mouth filter. “At space camp.”

 _Definitely_ not running through his brain-to-mouth filter.

“Spa-ace camp?” It’s broken up by Lance’s snicker. “Wait, space camp - are you serious?”

Speaking of space, Keith really would love to launch himself straight into it right about now. “Shut up.”

“Um, okay but I need details.”

“No you don’t.”

“I really do.”

“I don’t even remember it.”

That has Lance nearly crying out, “What!” feet coming down off the coffee table to plant themselves firmly on the ground as he tries to twist to see Keith’s face.

But Keith’s an expert at hiding in Lance’s chest.

“Keith _please._ I’m _begging_ you here.”

Somewhere along the path of one of Jupiter’s moons. That’s where he’d like to be shot off into and forgotten.

“I’ll tell you a story too.” Lance is bargaining now. Must really really want some sort of explanation, but…

“I honestly have nothing.” It was a weird time. Keith was a way different person. Was still figuring out a _ton_ of shit and used the whisky someone smuggled in to even it out. He uh...he evened it out _too_ much.

“Do you remember the guy?” Lance stops himself, eyes probably narrowing as he confirms- “Wait-...guy?”

“Yes.”

“Okay right - yeah, do you remember him?”

“No.”

“Not at _all?”_

Actually somewhere out in Pluto’s orbit is sounding a lot better. “Lance…”

“Okay okay…” He’s settling back into the couch, but Keith assumes this is far from over. Oh no. It’s bound to rear its ugly head again. Probably sometime soon.

For now, they sit in silence, Keith finding it acceptable to restart the roll of the hoodie string under his fingers.

“Just to be clear, that’s a ‘no’ for my orgy then?”

“Lance, oh my god.”

 

* * *

 

 

Keith tells Shiro about the party invite - not the ridiculous conversation that ensued, just the fact that Lance invited him. And that he turned it down.

It has Shiro throwing him a look from across the kitchen table. “Um. Okay, you know should be going to this, right?”

Keith frowns, the chicken untouched on his plate. “But we’re hanging out.”

“We _always_ hang out.”

“But it’s New Years.”

“Keith…” Shiro eases back in his chair, rubbing at his eye as he takes the time to inhale. It must really be something to have to be Keith’s friend. “The most exciting thing we do on New Years is play What Do You Meme.”

“I love that game.”

“I know you do. I know you do, but listen. You’ve just been invited to an actual, real life New Years Eve party. Not only that, but it’s the New Years Eve party of the guy you have a crush on.” He sits forward, making eye contact and spelling it out like Keith needs. “Go to your crush’s New Years Eve party.”

It’s...it’s very clear this way, but… “Are you sure?”

“I’m absolutely certain. In fact,” Shiro raises his eyebrows, “I’m gonna be mad if you _don’t_ go.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because, Keith. You’ll be wasting a golden opportunity, just so you can stay home and play What Do You Meme with the two people you see every other day of the year. And yes-” he holds a finger up as Keith opens his mouth, “I _know_ you love that game. That’s not an argument.”

Keith closes his mouth. Listens to it all. Lets it sink in, even if it might not be exactly what he wants to hear. Because Shiro knows what he’s talking about. Shiro has _done some shit._ And he’s not about to lead him astray now.

So.

Keith sits back, brows furrowing as he asks one more time, just to make sure. “Go to the party?”

And Shiro nods, solidly, tone certain as certain gets. “Go to the party.”

 

* * *

 

It’s 9:00 by the time he finds himself at the door to Lance’s apartment.

He can hear the voices inside - just a step away. Can feel the buzz of nerves tight in his chest.

He didn’t tell Lance he was coming - isn’t... _sure_ why he didn’t tell Lance he was coming. But he didn’t. Tell Lance. He didn’t tell Lance and yet here he is, on Lance’s doorstep with a bottle of wine that Shiro let him take last minute because it was the only thing he had.

And…

This is...probably a bad idea.

He makes a fist and raps it against the door a few times before he can think about it any longer.

Then he stands.

And stands.

And considers that it’s loud in there and maybe he didn’t knock loudly enough.

And raises his hand to do it again when-

“-en I get back!” It’s Lance, finishing up a conversation with someone inside and then turning to greet the-

His smile drops, then comes back tenfold, eyebrows raising like it’s one million dollars on his doorstep and not just Keith.

“No shit!”

The smile is contagious. It dances its way across Keith’s face, spurred by the enormous reaction he’s receiving. He didn’t expect it at all, actually, but fuck if it doesn’t make him feel wanted. “Hi.”

Lance laughs, eyes following to take Keith in and then shake his head like he’s attempting to right himself. “In! Come in! Did I miss your message or something? I thought you were doin’ stuff with your friends.”

Keith follows the usher forward, running through the dialogue he planned out on his way here only to find it’s been washed away by the endorphins. “Is it, uh…” It’s loud. “Is it okay that I’m here?”

“What?” He’s almost insulted. “Dude, of _course._ Jesus, I’m like-... You totally got me.” The party is still unfolding behind him at normal speed. _His_ party.

Keith searches for the next step and arrives at the- “Oh uh… Here.” He hands over the wine bottle, happy to have it out of his hand. “Unless you want me to hold it.”

Someone’s quoting something with a whole lotta gusto by the TV. Lance doesn’t seem to be distracted by it at all. “No I got it, I got it. Here- yeah lemme take your coat too. Actually wait, why don’t you just follow me and then you’ll know where it is.”

And then he’s moving in the opposite direction. Fast. Keith’s not exactly sure what’s happening but he does know he needs to follow so he does just that, trailing behind the host as what he assumes is normal party banter erupts all around him.

It’s quieter in the hallway - muted the most in the room he’s led to, the large bed in the middle of it towering with coats and purses.

Keith strums his fingers against his thigh. Ah. “This’s _your_ room?”

“Guest room,” Lance answers, then turns with his hands out in waiting.

In this light, Keith can fully appreciate the beige cardigan pulled over his white t-shirt - how it somehow manages to give off this casual but put-together look that Lance pulls off so easily. He’s as jealous as he is attracted. But he’s not supposed to be thinking about that anymore.

“How ‘bout you lemme hold that,” Lance insists when enough time must pass. He even gets a few fingers around the wine bottle before Keith is getting with the program and letting it be taken from him.

Alright, Keith. Focus.

The next step is obvious.

Take this coat off.

“Merlot, huh?” Lance teases, scanning the label that Keith didn’t even bother to read as he eases his jacket from his shoulders and sets it carefully on top of the mound on the bed. “Didn’t peg you as a wine guy-... _wow.”_

He’s got his brows risen again when Keith looks back, only this time his eyes are taking him in from head to toe.

Keith fights against the easy way out. “What.” Sticks his ground.

He’s thankful when Lance simply shakes his head, smile blooming once he says it. “Nothing, just-...lookin’ good, man.”

It works its way into Keith’s chest way too easily. Makes him try to recover with a nod and a careful, “You uh-...you too.” Nailed it. “I dunno how long I’m staying,” he adds on. Because that he _does_ remember. It’s always important to have an out. “Got work in the morning.” Even if the out is a white lie.

“Hey, I hear ya - I hear ya. I’m just glad you made it at all.”

What could be considered an incredibly awkward silence is prevented by the voice shouting Lance’s name from the living room. It’s not hard to see the party is missing its host.

“Wanna come meet some people?”

Lance moves toward the door despite the dread beginning to ooze into Keith’s stomach. Because no - actually he’d rather jump off the balcony than meet new people. But it’s a part of this whole _thing_ and he can’t be here without it happening so… Fuck.

“Sure.” And he follows him back down the hallway.

The next half hour or so is a complete haze in Keith’s memory. It goes in and out and there’s a lot of noise and forced introductions and he’s almost positive he’s not retaining any names, but…he does it. And Lance leads it all. And he...he actually seems like he’s excited to have Keith here, so… That’s good. That’s a good feeling to have.

It’s also how he finds himself plopped down at the end of the couch, very much in the thick of things as a game of Cards Against Humanity takes the noise levels high.

Keith’s technically in the circle, but they’re all halfway through the game, and you don’t just add someone in halfway through. Plus he doesn’t want to play anyway. He’s more of a watcher in these situations.

“Here you are, sir.”

Keith zones back in at the wine glass held out for him, the merlot swishing a deep red as he takes it from Lance’s grip. “Thanks.”

It’s been a little bit since Lance has been able to sit down. A long time, actually - every step he attempts to take interrupted by a different conversation start up or to pose for a holiday picture.

Keith doesn’t really mind it - well he _minds,_ but not that much - because he’s got a place to be in the meantime. A place where he doesn’t have to talk to anyone but it still looks like he’s participating in party banter. It’s all a great big illusion and he’s here for it.

Plus, the time separated also gives him a nice opportunity to drift off and appreciate him from afar, which, he won’t get into now. But you know how it is.

Lance grunts dramatically once he’s finally taking a seat next to Keith, the beer in his hand sloshing just a touch. “Alright, what’d I miss.”

Keith steadies his own glass. Red wine on a white couch. Not his best move. “Everything. The whole party’s over.”

“Shit.”

“Happy 2019.”

“I’ve been gone an entire year.”

A little chuckle wheezes its way through Keith’s nose, and then he brings his glass up to his lips - takes a little sip - and...oh okay. Guess merlot’s not his thing.

“That’s a _face.”_

“It’s fine,” he insists. But Lance’s badgering doesn’t stop there. He doesn’t know why he thought it would.

“You brought wine you don’t like?”

“I do - I like it.”

“That’s not your ‘I like this’ face.” Lance settles back, sure in his reasoning as he lets his attention drift off and an arm rest over the back of the couch. “I’ve seen your ‘I like this’ face and that ain’t it.”

Keith frowns. ...okay, it’s more of a pout. He may not be the most well versed guy when it comes to double meanings, but he can spot one when it’s as obvious as this. “Hilarious.”

“What is.”

“You flirting.”

Lance throws him a little look of faux surprise. Even brings a hand do his chest. “Me?”

“Yes-”

“Me - you think _I’m_ flirting-”

“Yes.” Keith’s sticking to his guns, although Lance’s wide eyed dramatics _are_ pretty funny this close up. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t keep his own side of this. “That’s right.”

“No, see-” Lance takes a small sip of his beer, shaking his head and turning his attention away again. “See, that would mean we’re both operating under the assumption that I’m still chasing after you.”

“And?”

“And I’m pretty sure we had a conversation not too long ago about that.”

Keith stalls, watching as Lance stays in character next to him, gaze casual on the game but not really seeing. It’s-... He’s flirting. Still. Just in a different way now.

Keith’s face is staring back at him in his merlot when he glances down into it. “Good thing we’re not doing that anymore, then.”

“Right? _Great_ thing.”

“Yeah.”

“Couldn’t think of a _better_ thing.”

“Me neither-”

“Here, ask me right now.” His tap on Keith’s knee is clipped. “Ask me right now to name one better thing.”

Keith’s eyes narrow. “Name one better thing?”

“I have no _fucking_ idea!”

He shouts it, arms held out in front of himself and eyebrows at his hairline. It’s loud and startling and Keith can’t help but let out the laughter bubbling up from his chest, the ridiculousness of it all sinking in and exploding like an atom bomb.

It draws a lot of attention - their commotion - but Lance doesn’t seem to care in the slightest, much more entertained by what’s probably the first _real_ laugh he’s heard from Keith since meeting him.

“Lance, you’re needed in the kitchen, please!” Comes the summon not even five seconds later.

The way Lance lulls his head into the direction of the kitchen is dramatic, but not as dramatic as his response. “Lance isn’t here at the moment! Please leave a message with Nadia!”

“Nadia left!”

“What? When did _that_ happen?”

The grin on Keith’s face won’t quit, especially with his front row seat to Lance’s absolutely theatrical heavy sigh, his hand resting on Keith’s knee to use as leverage while standing.

“Be back, I guess,” he groans.

Keith just watches and takes another gulp of wine.

 

\----------

 

Despite the front he’s so terribly attempted to create denying the fact, the sad truth of it is...Keith really does not like this merlot. It’s dry. And bitter. And why the hell Shiro drinks it for pleasure is so far beyond him. _But,_ it’s New Years Eve. And everyone else is drinking. And he’d look weird without some sort of alcoholic beverage in his hand, so he does his best. His best is two glasses, in case anyone was wondering.

It doesn’t take long to come to his next conclusion of the night, the same beer making its rounds with the host as the hour ticks by.

Lance isn’t drinking a lot either.

On the contrary, he’s almost completely level-headed - a noticeable difference since the last time Keith was here in his apartment with him. He can’t lie, it’s kind of reassuring to see someone else not getting completely shitfaced, especially on an occasion where it’s tradition to do so.

Maybe Lance is just trying to stay on top of things. It _is_ his place they’re in. _Are_ his couches people’s food is getting dangerously close to. _Was_ his guest room that was once a peaceful place Keith could duck in and out of for a small breather until a couple decided to start fighting in it.

“Fist fighting or word fighting?” Lance asks when he casually mentions it.

And while there’s certainly a lot of angry gestures being thrown around in there - “Word.” Keith just hopes they go away soon so he can get his safe haven back. “The ones in the Christmas sweaters.”

It takes a moment of mental placement, but then Lance is waving it off. “Oh, they do that all the time.” And then he’s pulled into a conversation that he looks like he doesn’t want to be a part of, because he keeps looking around the person so he can glance at Keith.

It’s kind of cute.

 _Really_ cute.

Keith shoots him a little smile and feels his heart flutter when Lance returns it.

At 10:30, they reconvene at the couch, Keith a little smooshed against the arm of it, but totally content because it means the other side of him is smooshed against Lance.

It’s later than he’s usually awake, but the pressure to remain alive and functioning helps push him onward. So does familiar warmth radiating next to him.

They’re three rounds into another game of Cards Against Humanity. And by ‘they’, Keith of course means ‘Lance and everyone else in the makeshift circle’. But Keith’s helping. He really is. The black card gets set down in the middle and everyone looks through their cards and every once in a while, Lance will lean his set over to Keith, a silent poll on which he should choose.

Keith will read over the options, mentally weighing the pros and cons, and then silently tap his finger on the card that he thinks is the most playable.

Every time - every single time - Lance reads it over again, turns his head to nod at him in solid agreement, and then leans forward to play it.

It’s got this weird way of making Keith feel ridiculously good. Because he’s being included, without having to commit to the anxiety of playing with a group he’s not familiar with, and it’s all tied together by the sensation of Lance’s arm stretched out behind him on the back of the couch - just a _touch_ away - there but not there.

And Keith wonders if...maybe…

He reaches up without looking, fingers wrapping around Lance’s wrist and then pulling until his arm has dropped down from the couch and settled loosely over his shoulders.

It’s noiseless - probably unnoticeable to everyone else in the circle - but it’s got Keith’s chest flooding with happy little tingles when Lance goes with the flow and secures his hold snugger, bringing Keith in close like all those times he has to the sounds of Stranger Things and the sight of falling snow outside the big windows.

Keith brings his feet up, tucking them under himself.

His knees become the new resting spot for Lance’s card-holding hand.

 

\-----------

 

By 11:00, they’ve successfully wormed their way out of three shots. That’s not to say they didn’t take them - physically - the shot glasses - they just go through the motions and smile and woo yay and then Lance secretly pours them into his beer bottle like it’s a completely normal thing to do.

It’s so stupid that it works. And everyone else is so wasted that they don’t notice. And when Keith hums a chuckle, noting the concoction of beer, two shots of vodka, and four shots of whisky in that bottle in Lance’s hand, Lance grins, lips soft and quirking cutely at the corners and so close it’d just take an inch or two to lean in.

And Keith is hit with the overwhelming urge to close it. To kiss him. To get his hands wherever Lance will let him.

But.

He doesn’t.

It’s just a passing moment of weakness.

 

\-----------

 

It’s 11:30. The game is done and someone’s started a round of Beerio Kart and Keith has found himself in the kitchen, the same glass of wine he’s been carrying around since 9:30 still clutched like a safety blanket in his hand.

The neighbors from the Christmas party at the community center are here. The girls Keith had a normal conversation with before it all went downhill at that friends/boyfriends mixup.

Amanda and Mia.

Those are their names.

Keith knows because he repeats them in his head over and over and over again until he’s absolutely certain he remembers them, because this time he’s on his own, Lance far away on the other side of the apartment and unable to help him.

It’s kind of a good thing, honestly. The space. A considerable amount of time has passed since that moment of weakness on the couch, but the need is still hanging around - still lurking, a ball of excited nerves sinking lower and lower in Keith’s belly every time his eyes land on Lance across the room. (Which is often.)

He shouldn’t be thinking it. He knows that. The parameters are very clean cut now. They’re either cuddle buddies or friends, depending on the setting. And that’s it. No funny business whatsoever.

Keith takes a time out from his thoughts… Did he just use the phrase ‘funny business’?

Whatever. That’s what it is - or _isn’t,_ actually. That’s what it isn’t because it’s what they’re _not_ doing. No kissing. No non-cuddle buddy related touching. No funny business whatsoever.

Over by the door to the patio, Lance breaks from his conversation to glance over, eyes landing on where Keith doesn’t realize he’s been staring. It’s a split second notice and then goes back to whatever his friend is saying with a nod.

A little shaken, Keith does the same, returning to where Mia is now unlooping a curl of Amanda’s hair from where it was trapped under her necklace.

No funny business.

Either friends or cuddle buddies. That’s it.

Although…

His attention hops casually back towards Lance.

That cardigan is soft. He already knows it is. But what he really wants to do is get his hands under it - slip them between that heavy cardigan and the thin white t-shirt beneath it - feel the solid heat coming off of Lance’s skin from beneath _that._ He wants to wrap himself in it and get lost. Lie down. Have Lance’s body-weight on top of him.

Another connected glance.

Interested eyes.

Keith looks away, but isn’t strong enough not to glance right back to where...to Lance is watching him, taking him in from the other side of the room, the corner of his mouth curving just a little in subtle acknowledgment.

He’s...he’s smirking at him.

Keith tears his attention away, _far_ too excited by the way it ignites under his ribs and spreads.

Lance knows he’s watching him.

And Keith knows Lance is watching _him._

And he’s been a part of one too many staredowns with this boy to know where this leads.

But he shouldn’t. _They_ shouldn’t.

So they won’t.

But that doesn’t mean Keith can’t still appreciate him from afar.

 

\---------

 

Time is starting to slip in and out. He’s not entirely sure where they are within the hour, but the big exciting celebration hasn’t happened yet (unless he’s zoning out _so_ completely that he missed it), which means it’s gotta be before midnight.

Neither he nor Lance have moved from their spots at the polar ends of the apartment in a long while, perhaps out of the joint knowledge that there’s been way too much staring on both parts. And while it _is_ validating to not be the only one doing the wrong thing, being on the receiving end of Lance’s pointed attention is undeniably intimidating - altogether nerve-wracking...but in a good way.

It does kind of make Keith want to drink more, though. Just to take the edge off. He’s not used to sexual tension at any imaginable level. And yes, it makes him feel nice and wanted and all that shit, but _jesus_ does it also amp his anxiety up like none other.

You know what would help right now? A hug.

Except joke’s on him, because guess who the only person here who he’d let hug him is?

 

\---------

 

It’s two minutes to midnight. It’s two minutes to midnight and people are gathering near the TV for the countdown. Keith is absolutely certain about this because there’s a little clock at the bottom of the screen and it’s counting down from one minute and thirty seconds now.

Mia and Amanda fill their glasses. The couple fighting in the guest room come out hand in hand. Everyone seems to have their person and be ready and Lance-...Lance is…

Keith’s heart skips, the look of soft but genuine struggle very clear on Lance’s face as he makes that eye contact from across the room again. This time it’s different. This time there’s something going on in his head.

45 seconds

Keith swallows thickly, pulse quickening in his wrists because-... Does Lance… Does he secretly want him over there? Does he want to be with him for the-

30 seconds

He wants to. Keith wants to. He feels it, very _very_ intensely in the pit of his stomach that yes-

15 seconds

-yes there’s nothing in the world that he wants more right now than to make his way over there, where Lance’s brows are furrowing, so they can be near each other-

10 seconds

-just for the moment-

5 seconds

-just to touch-

3 seconds

-to kiss just once because it won’t count if it’s for the-

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

The room explodes into cheers, wine glasses clinking and confetti poppers snapping and everyone turning to kiss each other and-...

And Keith can’t hear any of it.

Can’t see the flashing on the screen.

Can’t focus on anything, but the light disappearing from Lance’s eyes as confetti falls over the invisible line they’ve drawn to each other across the room.

Disappointment.

A comedown in agonizing slow motion.

The anticlimax to a feeling Keith’s been stuffing down in his chest since the day he’s met him.

Mia’s voice filters in first. Then Amanda’s. Then the rest of the kitchen, slowly ebbing out until the party sounds like a party again because it has been the whole time.

Keith turns his attention away, dropping it to the wine that’s grown warm in his hand.

So that’s that.

His wine glass clinks against the counter as he sets it down for the first time in three hours, feet carrying him to the dark hallway that leads to his quiet spot. He just needs a second. Needs to pull it together and ground himself in the real world like he’s tried so hard to do for the past however many years.

The hallway is dark. Less noisy. Less insane like the living room and maybe just right here is fine. Maybe it’s good enough.

Keith purses his lips, the long breath he lets out leaving his chest lighter, less tight, making room for the surge of energy when he feels the presence behind him.

Lance already has a gentle hold on Keith’s hand when he turns, his expression flat but only in the way that he’s no longer got too much going on in his head.

It’s soft but certainly terrifying. Sends a shudder of anticipation up Keith’s spine as Lance steps forward to bring in his other hand as well.

The hallway is tight. It leaves almost no room for Keith to step back. Has his shoulders against the wall behind him and fingers tingling to give in. To reset what they’ve built again.

To touch.

Maybe if…

Just a little...

Lance’s t-shirt is like heaven beneath his fingertips, abdomen firm as Keith drags them down and then around, slipping underneath the cardigan like he’s wanted to this entire evening.

It’s better than he was imagining - made hard to concentrate on with the way Lance’s mouth drops down to hover close to his. Close...but…

Keith swallows, heart racing. He spreads his shaky fingers until the heat of Lance’s skin underneath his shirt presses snugly to his palms. Slides them around Lance’s sides and then up his back, the space between their mouths growing heated as Lance arches just enough under his touch.

And…

They’re close…   

But not so close that they can’t stop themselves.

Keith presses forward. But his intent has gone blurry because he follows after him, covering Lance’s footsteps in the dark with his own until it’s no longer his back flush against the wall, but the other way around.

Lance’s jaw flexes and it’s almost too much. Almost too close. It pushes his mouth to fall just short of Keith’s neck instead. Heavy breath. Lips licked hungrily. Almost too close.

It’s enough to have Keith’s eyes fluttering shut, the heat that’s been resting in his belly all night quick to move dangerously low - to pool unfairly between his legs as that hot breath moves down his neck, goosebumps shocking.

And he-...

He wants it. He wants Lance. He wants him so bad it’s starting to hurt.

So when he asks it, it’s shaky, voice weak and breaking. But when he gets it out - “...one time…?”

\- it only takes a moment for Lance to answer, voice just as shaky: “One time.”

And then they’re moving - everything is sort of spinning out for a second - Keith can’t distinguish left from right but then it doesn’t matter because they’re alone - the door is slamming - locking - he doesn’t give a shit about looking around and taking in details because he’s pinned between the mattress and Lance and he’s-

Oh god, it’s happening.

They’re really doing this.

Lance’s lips work fast, his hands working faster and so hurried that it’s hard to keep up. But Keith doesn’t need to - is getting everything he needs just by touching - Lance’s neck - his hair - the curve of his lower back.

There’s no time to feel worried - to overthink - it’s just hands, _wherever_ they can get to. Just Lance - mouth pressing hungrily to Keith’s throat. He drags his knee up and slots it between Keith’s legs and while that should be enough to freak Keith out, there just _isn’t the fucking time._

So he just moves. He swallows and rakes dull fingernails over Lance’s skin and cants his hips forward, giving an experimental rub against Lance’s thigh and _oh -_ oh _fuck-_

The noise he lets out doesn’t even sound like himself. It’s not him. It’s someone else entirely but shit, how can he care when it feels so fucking good?

Keith does it again - chases after it - grinds against Lance’s thigh and arches his back from the teeth grazing over the crook of his neck.

Fuck…

Fuck fuck fuck…

Lance’s arm is reaching again but it doesn’t make contact. It ends up somewhere else and the angle of it has Lance’s lap dragging over Keith’s hip, just close enough that Keith can feel the hardness pressing and egging on where all the heat has pooled in him just a little lower.

It’s happening.

They’re doing this.

They’re gonna-

Both hands disappear but Lance is still kissing him, teeth catching Keith’s bottom lip as some sort of plastic crinkles off to the side and then there’s more movement and - “Gonna take your pants off.”

It’s a heads up - one that Keith nods through and doesn’t really connect until those hands are back and at the button of his jeans and then his pants are being slid down his thighs - cold air against warm skin and-

Keith’s pulse spikes at the fingers sliding under the lining of the legs of his briefs. It draws just enough attention to the throbbing heat and flushes his face red and-

Lance shifts upwards, one hand busy and fabric rustling, and his mouth hovers over Keith’s one more time when he says it, low and labored, “Ready…?”

And all he has to do is nod once for Lance to reach down, fingers tucking the crotch of Keith’s briefs to the side and dick pressing between his folds for a moment, slipping carefully along the wet heat, and then he’s sinking inside.

Keith’s back curves off the mattress - _fuck_ \- the stretch of Lance filling inside him getting his mouth to drop open. And there’s that voice he doesn’t recognize again, loud and not caring that he sounds like he’s already coming because _holy fuck. Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck._

Lance’s exhale comes out jagged, his hands gripping Keith’s waist as he eases himself out, and then slides back in - slowly - then faster - then faster and faster and then so fast that Keith’s scrambling for a place to hold on, eyes squeezed tight and his entire body hit with wave after wave after wave of heat and-

 _Fuck_ it feels so good. It feels good it feels good it feels good.

It feels _so fucking good_ that he might melt into the mattress.

Lance is panting above him, hips snapping and popping off those pleasure points and he brings one hand down - uses it to lift Keith’s leg and hold it to his own waist like he did the very first time and _ohh, that’s a different angle._

The mattress is creaking under them but all Keith can hear is his own pulse slamming against his eardrums - his and Lance’s heavy breaths climbing with each thrust.

It’s all so much - so intense - has him sneaking a hand down to slip under the waistband of his briefs and rub a couple fingers over his clit. It takes a second with the timing of Lance’s dick but he gets it - _fuck_ does he get it. And he’s not even that surprised by how wet he is because _come on._

“Fuck,” Lance pants, heavy and hot against the side of Keith’s neck. And his hips are starting to pitch forward quicker - tighter - almost painful and- _“Fuck-”_

“I’m gonna come-” Keith’s dead set on it, the pleasure swelling closer and closer and- “I’m gonna-... _Ah-”_

Lance’s hips stutter to a stop and it’s all over. It’s all washing over Keith, tensing him up and rolling him out all at the same time and it’s-

Lance curses, one hand fisted in the sheets next to Keith’s head, the other slid halfway up the side of Keith’s shirt and it’s-

...it’s…

Keith shudders - his _entire body_ shudders, eyes still rolled to the back of his head under his eyelids. He can’t breathe. He can’t see anything. He can’t hear a single thing until faintly, in the back of his head but very close to his ear:

“H-...hey… ...you okay…?”

Another breath...shaky…

Then…

He lets his eyes drop open. Blinks into the dark room.

Lance is above him, chest heaving and pupils blown, but a smile threatening to break over the concern dancing clear across his face.

Keith blinks again. Gets his bearings.

“Y-...yeah…” that’s his voice again. “...yeah…”

Holy _crap._ They just-

Lance’s smile takes free reign at that. And it’s very very validating to see how hard he’s trying to catch his breath as well.

Makes Keith feel less ridiculous.

The mattress protests as Lance collapses to the side with an unarguably satisfied groan, fingers reaching down to himself.

Keith averts his eyes. Which isn’t as dumb as one might think. Just because Lance just fucked him, that doesn’t mean Keith actually looked at his dick. And he definitely doesn’t have to start now.

Well…

Maybe just a small peek.

“Oh man…” Another satisfied exhale.

Keith quickly looks away, flinching a bit from the snap of the condom being tied off next to him.  

It’s the same time an aftershock quickly works its way through his body, his thighs pressing together and toes curling because _jesus…_

“Need anything…?” Lance is gonna catch his breath before him and it’s gonna be awkward.

But Keith shakes his head, still unable to string more than a couple words together.

He pulls his jeans back up over his hips. Tries to move on regardless of the realization of how soaked his underwear is. Sits up and runs a shaky hand over his eyes and starts to make mental preparations. Because it’s only a matter of time before the endorphins and adrenaline and all that starts to wear off, and it sinks in that he just slept with Lance.

 _Really_ sinks in.

_He just slept with Lance._

“Hey,” speak of the devil, he’s coming to sit up next to him, grin a little dirty but eyes still glimmering in the dark when he says it. “Happy New Year, man.”

Keith glances down, unable to fight the blush that’s creeping to life on the back of his shy little smile. “...Happy New Year.”

 

* * *

 

 

Some people wake up on January 1st with a raging headache and the deep desire to be dead.

Others, with a sense of new beginnings, eager to turn their life around for the better.

Keith? Keith wakes up with a full night of memories and can’t stop smiling like an idiot.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re unusually chipper.”

Allura looks like she might have been one of those people who woke up yesterday feeling shitty, but Keith’s too happy for his own damn self to let it bother him.

Even if he’s trying to keep up appearances. “Don’t know what you mean.”

There’s a lull in customers. It’s why he has the time to stare into nothing as the images of Lance above him take him away to someplace better. Someplace not here.

Allura doesn’t press it. Probably doesn’t have any plausible theories to back up her observation.

It’s fair.

Keith’s still finding it hard to believe he had sex too.

 

* * *

 

 

_Cuddle Buddy - 1 new message!_

_morning my dude - you left your prize winning merlot here if you want me to bring it tonight_

**please throw it off the balcony**

_a reasonable request_

_it will be done_

 

* * *

 

 

Lance comes over like he always does. Because it’s a Tuesday. He’s swapped out his crisp New Years attire for a reliable hoodie and some sweatpants but Keith’s brain is sure finding ways around it.

They sit on the couch. Still haven’t touched Keith’s bed since the night after the arboretum. And while Keith’s certainly taking advantage of his favorite position against Lance’s chest, he can’t overlook one very simple irregularity. Something easy to pick up but not so easy to explain.

It’s his heartbeat.

Lance’s.

It’s beating far too quickly against Keith’s ear.

“...you okay?” It sounds strange coming from his own mouth. To be the one asking and not being asked.

Lance grins, and it reaches _just_ below his eyes, but still misses all the same. “Yeah dude. You?”

It’s not really a question that requires a follow-up. Because for once... _yes,_ Keith _is_ okay . It’s _Lance_ who’s raising red flags.

But…

“Yeah… I’m fine…”

It dies there. Isn’t brought up again. Keith lays his head back down on top of Lance’s chest and does his best to ignore the abnormal pitter patter of his pulse.

Something has to be going on. Something not good. Because it doesn’t slow the entire session. And the usual stroke up and down his arm that Keith’s so fond of? Inconsistent. On and off. Almost as noticeable as the way its traded in for the uneasy flutter of Lance’s fingertips instead.

When the session ends, Keith’s gone through about five different scenarios in his head as explanation, almost all of them revolving around Lance feeling uncomfortable keeping Keith as a client considering recent events. Even if it was a one time thing.

But he doesn’t want to freak himself out. Doesn’t want to worry about something he doesn’t need to worry about. Because Lance has shown no solid signs that he doesn’t want Keith anymore. None at all. None whatsoever.

Until he refuses to take the payment.

“Uh...actually, you hang onto that...”

His eyes are everywhere but where Keith is frowning, the bills crinkled in his waiting hand.

And…

“What do you mean…?”

Lance presses his palms to his thighs. Won’t look at him. “You just-... I don’t want your money anymore.”

“What?” Oh no. It’s playing out like more than one of the scenarios did in his head. This can’t be happening. “Why not?”

“Because…” Watching him stand there, trying to put it all together, it hurts. “Because I-...” It’s a complete roll reversal. Like staring in the mirror. And it makes it all that more agonizing that this is how it ends. “Because I’m wondering if you’d let me take you out on a date instead.”

Lance’s declaration hangs heavy in the air between them.

Has time stalling out.

Makes Keith’s brain disconnect and then regain focus at breakneck speed because…

“...what?”

He…

... _what?_

“I’m-...I’m asking you out,” Lance is more confident now. Apparently he just needed to push through the first wave of the reveal in order to gain some traction. And now that he has… “There’s no boyfriend charge. And…” his laugh is more of a scoff, “I mean, we’ve obviously been overlooking this huge loophole in the agreement this whole time, so-”

“You wanna date me?”

A pause. Then another laugh. This one more genuine. “Jesus, what is that _face_ for?”

And Keith knows he’s frowning - knows he must look like he’s hearing the most unbelievable news in the entire goddamn world, but…

Lance…

Lance wants to be his boyfriend.

“Not to get too weird but, I honestly can’t read how you feel about me, so…” Lance lets his gaze drop, although his tone remains fond, “All I know is I really like you. And I love cuddling with you. And uh-...I mean I _really_ like fucking you and it’d be sweet to keep that up too, but… Up to you.” Lance looks back up to him, a confident exhale ending on a small smile. “That’s it.”

Keith blinks, mind reeling. _Reeling._  

And, “I thought you were gonna say you didn’t wanna see me anymore.”

Lance’s brows furrow, “What? No-... No I-... God, no I’m just trying to see if you like me enough to let me take you on a date.”

It’s so fucking cute in its honesty that Keith can’t take it. Just fucking dropkicks his brain into functioning because this is literally the sweetest thing that’s ever happened to him in his life and-

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I want you to take me out.”

The way saying it out loud has Keith’s smile blooming does wonders for Lance as well - possibly even more so. And holy shit. Holy _shit_ they’re-

“All-...Alright,” Lance is practically giddy in front of him, his hands shoving into his pockets and his shoulders squeezing up. “Alright cool-...um… I’ll...text you and we can figure it out?”

Keith nods, far too many butterflies broken free from the cage in his chest. “I need to give you my number.”

“Hm?”

“My phone number. You don’t have it.”

“Right.” Lance shakes his head, using the momentum of his previous movements to pull his phone out of his pocket. And Keith knows that feeling. That’s the feeling you get when you realize something completely obvious and feel like an idiot for it. “Um-”

Keith takes the phone from him when it’s clear his brain isn’t allowing him to process things. It’s only fair. How many times has Lance done the same for him? “Here.”

Done and done. There they are.

Lance’s smile has dropped into something soft as he takes his phone back and slides it in his jacket pocket, all without looking away from where his gaze has settled fondly on Keith. “Okay. So I’ll uh…”

“...text me.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

The silence that draws from the end of the conversation has Keith’s giddy smile returning, this time on the tail of a chuckle. “Okay. Now go home.”

Lance follows suit with another shake of his head at himself, then, turning to the door. “Alright, goodnight-”

But Keith catches him just in time - has an uncharacteristic spark of confidence and slips forward to plant a kiss to his mouth.

Lance freezes but it a good way, his eyebrows raising as he returns the kiss and then grins once Keith's dropped down from his tip-toes. “Okay.”

“Okay bye.”

“Bye.” Except he punctuates it with one more.

Keith giggles after it. “Bye.”

Feels the kiss after that in his toes.

“Bye,” hums Lance. And then pulls away for the door. And then takes one step back and plants one more kiss to where Keith’s laughing again. And then, for real this time: “Okay really, goodbye.”

Keith’s face hurts from smiling. “Bye.”

And then Lance is disappearing behind the door.

And Keith is stuck in his spot, although he feels like he’s floating above the floor.

And only a couple seconds tick by before the front door is opening back up again, Lance reappearing with a look of affectionate determination as he swoops forward and plucks Keith up on the spot, Keith letting out a cry of surprise as he wraps his legs around Lance’s waist and lets himself be carried through the living room and straight back into bed.

 

* * *

 

 

Their first date is to a drive-in movie. It’s two hours away and nothing that good is playing, but they get to sit together in Lance’s car and snuggle way too closely.

It goes off without a hitch. As does the next date. And the one after that. Until so many dates have gone by that Keith is more or less forced to tell Pidge since he wants to start bringing Lance around.

The funny thing is, as ironic as ironic can be, Pidge has _no fucking idea_ what he’s talking about. Has _zero_ recollection of making fun of him and starting off this whole ordeal, until Keith has to pull up the link they sent him four months ago. And even then…

“So what you’re saying is, I should be charging for matchmaking services?”

Keith rolls his eyes, but doesn’t underappreciate the insane relief of not being made fun of when he’s been dreading it all along.

Lance still does his Cuddle Buddy thing, and at the end of the day, he comes home to Keith - spoons him and watches the snow fall - tells him about how that one woman he sees daily is doing. Keith lies and listens and watches the snow fall too. And when there’s nothing left to be said, they let the sound of the other person’s heartbeat send them off to sleep, untroubled with the arms holding snugly around them.

And they are - all together - very content.

**~ THE END ~**


End file.
